


Moore Money, Moore Problems

by oyhumbug



Category: General Hospital
Genre: Drama, F/M, Flash Fic, Humor, Jason Morgan is Actually Jason Moore, Romance, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-11
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-01-19 07:06:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 49,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1460350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oyhumbug/pseuds/oyhumbug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Audrey Hardy dies, she leaves her very messy affairs for her granddaughter to take care of, eventually providing an ungrateful Elizabeth with a way to majorly clean up... and clean out the pockets of Port Charles' most well-lined citizens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter of this story was previously posted on fanfiction.net, LJ (oy_humbug2), my own site (Delicious Infatuation), and Liason message boards.

**Moore Money, Moore Problems**

 

_**FNF#** _ **45: “I like intelligent women. When you go out, it shouldn't be a staring contest.** _**~ Frank Sinatra** _

 

The ancient, judgmental bat had finally done it.  
  
She'd kicked the bucket.  
  
Bought the farm.  
  
Ding dong, the witch was dead, and all Elizabeth Webber had to say was good riddance.  
  
Conscientiously, she knew such thoughts were very wicked, but, after so many years of dealing with Audrey Hardy's lectures and watching her grandmother look down upon her, she just couldn't bring herself to care. If it wasn't disappointment about Elizabeth's lifestyle choices, then it was ridicule and criticism about the men she dated, or how she wore her hair, or even what she ate. Nothing she did had made the woman happy.  
  
As she sat amongst the old harpy's things, she attempted – and failed miserably – at scrounging up even a teeny-tiny morsel of grief. The most thoughtful feeling she could manage, though, was indifference. Putting her own issues with the Hardy matriarch aside, Elizabeth knew that Audrey had been sick for quite some time, so surely it had been a relief for the retired nurse to pass away. The doctors had even said that it had been peaceful, which, in her opinion, was more than the hypocritical witch deserved, especially when she glanced around the mess that was her inheritance from the woman.  
  
No, she silently corrected herself, narrowing her gaze. Not _her_ inheritance; it was also Steven and Sarah's as well. After all, if nothing else, Audrey Hardy liked to think of herself as fair. She couldn't leave her legacy to just one of her grandchildren, never mind the fact that, for the past few years, it had only been Elizabeth who was there to take care of her, cart her around town to run errands, and put up with all her unbelievably annoying crap. Oh, no! Such consideration when deciding how to leave her last will and testament made too much common sense for Elizabeth's grandmother to employ.   
  
So, as she dug through 55 years of paperwork, 55 years of family photos and knickknacks, 55 years of junk only a lonely old lady would ever want, Elizabeth had to ask herself where her dear siblings were. Just like they had been since she was still a teenager, Sarah and Steven were off saving the helpless, and the poor, and the needy of some third world country with a name so complicated, she'd be lucky if she could pronounce it, let alone actually spell it. Not that she was stupid or uneducated, but her family tended to be as difficult as they possibly could.  
  
Why it never occurred to another soul in the Hardy/Webber family that just maybe they should worry about the hundreds of thousands of Americans who didn't get enough food to eat and who didn't have medical insurance first before they tried to save the rest of the world was beyond her. Obviously, her parents and siblings didn't understand the concept of taking care of one's own before worrying about others. It would be like a parent of twelve allowing their brats to go outside with unwashed, uncombed hair only to wander about town brushing out the tangled locks of other people's children. Not only would such a parent probably get their ass kicked, but they'd be considered a fool, too.  
  
But not Steven and Sarah.  
  
No, Audrey had considered them just shy of saintly, real chips off the old Steve Hardy block, whereas she, Elizabeth, was a disgrace to the family name simply because she didn't want to enter the medical field or sacrifice her youth to go traipsing off around the world to rescue others who wouldn't give a damn about her in return. While it was perfectly alright for her brother and sister to forget Audrey's birthday, never come home to visit, and practically forget that they even had a grandmother, if she begged off from driving the old crank to just one of her hospital committee meetings, she was an ungrateful, selfish child. So, really, if anything, Elizabeth should have been shocked that her grandmother had left her anything at all in her will, but it still chaffed that, while whatever money could be made by selling off Audrey's things had to be split equally three ways, she was the only one wading through the mothball smelling junk.  
  
Casting a forlorn glance around the room her grandmother had used as an office (why a retired nurse who didn't even do her own taxes and spent the majority of her time planting flowers or gossiping with her old biddy friends would need an office, she'd never know), Elizabeth admitted to herself that, after the funeral costs were paid for, she, Sarah, and Steven wouldn't get much. At one point, their grandmother's home would have been worth something, but it was no longer located in a fashionable neighborhood, and, unless she wanted to shovel money into it that she didn't have, there's no way the dated place would fetch anything decent in such an abysmal market. As for the house's furnishings, everything was floral, stiff, and covered in plastic, and the only people with taste like that were either living on a fixed income or they already had their own tacky, old lady belongings.  
  
Audrey had some jewelry, but half of it had been buried with her body, and the other half were family heirlooms pieces which the will had stated could not be sold. Her car, a brown boat of a Buick, was practically as old as Audrey had been, and Elizabeth figured she'd be able to get more from the piece of junk if she scrapped it for metal rather than trying to sell it. Not even a pimply faced teen would be desperate enough to buy the old bat's rusty rat-trap of a car. So, basically, that left her with jack shit and a whole lot of work to do.  
  
Even in death, Audrey Hardy could still make her life a living hell.  
  
Slamming the drawer shut that she had just been leafing through, Elizabeth was about to give up, call it a day, and hope that some passerby casually lobbed a lit cigarette at her grandmother's house, caught it on fire, and stood there while it burnt to the ground so she could collect the insurance money when she spotted something that caught her attention.  
  
Unlike every other single piece of paperwork that she had already gone through (and, surely, there had been thousands already), that particular envelope, now in her hands, stood out like a society maven at a monster truck rally, and it wasn't penned in Audrey's tight, snooty handwriting. Rather, it was addressed to her grandmother and faded with time, and Elizabeth found herself hoping she had just stumbled upon some old, improper love letters between the old battle-ax and an inappropriate lover. Eagerly, she tore the envelope open. By the time she had read the first sentence in its entirety, she was already breathless with anticipation, for what she had found was better than finally getting something to hold over the nasty crank's head, even in death.  
  
Scanning the missive quickly, she was pretty sure she read the entire letter without blinking once. Finished, she simply started over, needing to see the words scattered across the paper again, and again, and again. By the time she finally put the note down, Elizabeth wasn't sure how many times she had read it – at least enough to memorize practically the entire thing word for word, verbatim. The sun had set, the chill of dusk had permeated the drafty house, and she was fairly trembling with exhilaration.  
  
She had just hit the mother-load of all mother-loads. She could practically hear her bank account expanding with every second that ticked by. 

 

* * *

 

Elizabeth liked Jake's. It was the place she went when she needed to unwind, the place she went when she didn't want her grandmother to find her, because, even if Audrey Hardy knew that her granddaughter was at the dockside bar, she was too prim and proper to ever call and ask for Elizabeth there, let alone actually set foot in the establishment. For a while, she had even worked there on the busy nights, helping out the regular bartender and stocking away her tip money to pay for school books or art supplies. Despite the fact that she was still in school, though, she had moved on from working at Jake's. Now, she just drank there.  
  
As Elizabeth sauntered into the smoky, dim tavern that early afternoon, she smiled confidently to herself when she saw the man behind the bar. He was the owner, had been now for quite a few years despite the fact that he had yet to change the name of the bar. She highly doubted the place would ever be called anything but Jake's, and she liked that about her former boss. In fact, it was one of many things she appreciated about Jason Moore.  
  
He was good looking, that was undeniable, but their relationship had never even gotten close to that personal. While she had worked at the bar, they had been on friendly terms, but Jake's had a strict no mixing business with pleasure kind of atmosphere, despite its seedy clientèle, and, frankly, back when she was still bartending some on the weekends, she hadn't been interested in dating. Now that she was, Jason was just... well, Jason – that one nice guy that every girl knew that she could talk to, that one nice guy that seemed to want sex from every other woman he met except for the one girl who confided in him. And that was okay with her.  
  
Jason was also a fair man, honest, hard working, and he was loyal. He had helped her land her current job, went over her checkbook with her a few times when she couldn't get the damn thing balanced, and, hell, he'd even gone to her grandmother's funeral, though, if she had been aware of his presence there, Audrey probably would have been rolling over in her grave... which was just another reason Elizabeth appreciated Jason Moore. However, at the same time, she wouldn't consider them friends either. They were... acquaintances, two people who could go for six months without seeing or talking to one another but still feel comfortable the very next time they ran into each other at Kelly's or in the frozen foods aisle at the grocery store.  
  
Sidling up to the bar where Jason was polishing glasses unnecessarily – after all, no one came to Jake's for the sparkling stemware, Elizabeth took a seat without invitation, folded her arms across the bar top, and waited for the bartender to speak. He did so, seconds later, without even glancing up. “Bar's closed.”  
  
“I know,” she drawled out, infusing a hint of humor in the tone of her voice. “I read the sign out front. Plus, seeing as how I worked here for a while, I'm kind of already aware of your hours of operation. However, I didn't come here for a drink.”  
  
“Overdraw your account again, Webber,” he teased, glancing up to meet her gaze at the same time as the corners of his mouth quirked up into a knowing smirk.  
  
“Very funny. Actually, I'm here to make you a business offer.”  
  
Without pausing, he responded, “I don't need any new artwork for the bar, Elizabeth. Even if I wanted to spruce this place up...”  
  
“Spruce,” she repeated, chuckling softly. “Since when do you say spruce?”  
  
“I don't; you do... or, at least, you did the last time you tried to talk me into a mural on the back wall by the jukebox.”  
  
“And I stand by that offer, but that's not why I'm here.” Biting her lip in an effort to curb her own enthusiasm, she leaned forward, smiling when Jason abandoned his glass polishing and did the same thing. “What would you say if I told you I stumbled across the biggest piece of scandalous information this town has ever seen?”  
  
“Bigger than Lucy Coe in her underwear at the Nurses' Ball?”  
  
“Oh, please,” she dismissed, waving off his suggestion. “That's just a tradition at this point, a treasured one, in fact, especially by the old perverts who frown and then secretly get off hours later back at home when they think about it again after they take a Viagra.”  
  
“You have a dirty mouth, Webber.”  
  
“Which you've always enjoyed, Moore.”  
  
He tipped his head in concession. “Alright, bigger than the police commissioner's daughter's sex tape scandal?”  
  
Rolling her eyes, she said, “that performance could hardly be considered sex... at least not good sex.” If she didn't know any better, Elizabeth would have thought she saw Jason rake his gaze up and down her body quickly, but she dismissed the moment as a flight of her own imagination and pressed on. “No, what I'm talking about involves Port Charles' very own first family.”  
  
“ _You_ got dirt on the Q's?”  
  
Slapping a hand on the bar, she exclaimed, “hey, don't say it like that. I happen to be a very good scandal monger.”  
  
“Only if you're at the center of the scandal.”  
  
Ignoring him, she continued, “what if I were to tell you that Alan Quartermaine had an affair... oh say about twenty-eight years ago.”  
  
“I'd say that it better have been with a man or his own sister if you really think this news is going to make waves. The Quartermaines are known for their affairs. Hell, Monica Quartermaine had one with her own nephew.”  
  
“This affair produced a child.”  
  
Despite his best efforts, Elizabeth could see the shock ricochet through Jason's strikingly clear blue eyes. “AJ?”  
  
“No, that lout is 100% legitimate... which is probably why he drinks like a fish and has the personality of a surly rhinoceros.”  
  
“Then who?”  
  
Grinning broadly, she answered, “you.” As Jason rocked backwards, she explained, “apparently, your mother – Susan Moore – left the secret of your parentage with my grandmother when she died after giving birth to you. If something were to happen where you would need your biological family, something like a medical emergency, because, obviously, Audrey didn't think life in an orphanage and foster care were dire enough to spill the beans, then she was to go to the Q's and tell them the truth.”  
  
“I... but... why are you telling me this, Elizabeth?”  
  
“Because we're going to announce your status as a Quartermaine heir to the world.”  
  
“We,” he inquired, the sudden rising of his brows telling her he was surprised by her response.  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“And why the hell would I do that?”  
  
“Because old Eddie Q is desperate for a suitable heir.”  
  
“He has AJ or even Ned Ashton,” Jason pointed out, taking yet another step away from her.  
  
“True, but, if he gave the company to AJ, ELQ would come to stand for Empty Liquor Quarts, and, despite the fact that Ned Ashton is a competent businessman, he has one thing against him.” Answering his question before it could even be asked, she finished, “he's the eldest son of an eldest daughter. Men like Edward Quartermaine want to pass their legacies down to someone who will carry on their family line, who has their last name.”  
  
“There's just one problem with your plan here, Webber,” he argued, shrugging his shoulders. “I don't want to be a part of that family, and I certainly don't want any of their money.”  
  
“But you do want to help people, the more the better, in fact, and there's no way you'll ever be able to help all the homeless kids of Port Charles, all the hungry and hopeless teens of this godforsaken town unless you suddenly and quite conveniently come into a large sum of moola.”  
  
Reclaiming his steps towards her and once more leaning against the bar, Jason asked her, “and where do you fit into this whole scheme, Webber?”  
  
“My letter, my plan, my money, too, Moore. First you're going to marry me, then we're going to spill the beans, and finally we're going to reap the rewards – all, approximately, 780 million of them.” Leaning across the bar top, she shocked him when she pushed off her arms and planted her lips against his own for a quick, promising kiss. “So, what do you say? Want to get hitched?”


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a LONG time since I originally posted Moore Money, Moore Problems as a one shot. Soon afterwards, if you will recall, I hosted a poll which asked for readers to vote on which one shot they wanted continued, and this story won. While I never lived up to that poll at the time it was active, I am now. The good news? This story is finished, so you won't experience years between posts again. Also, my plan is to post pretty rapidly: two chapters per week, both posted on the same day. I'm not even sure if anyone will be interested in reading Liason fic at this point, but I figured that I might as well put it out there since it was, first of all, promised, and, secondly, already completed. However, with this said, I HIGHLY doubt I'll ever write anything for Liason again, so enjoy this story while it lasts.
> 
> Thanks,  
> Charlynn

**Part Two**

** FNF#55: She walks in beauty, Like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright. Meet in her aspect and her eyes.  _~ Byron_ **

“I can't wait to hear about all the progress you made today. I mean, if I could go to the library, check out the Herald's archive, and manage to attend all my classes and, at least, pay partial attention, then you should have half this town talking already.”  
  
Jason smirked, watching Elizabeth – _his fiancee_ – as she strode into his office as though she owned the place. In a way, her presence already did. Elizabeth was just too boisterous, too full of life that, whenever he was near her, it felt as though she lit up and filled all the places his shadowy persona kept dim. Plus, there was also the fact that, after that afternoon, she would also legally own half of his bar... though Elizabeth wasn't aware of that fact. Yet.  
  
He could have told her, probably should have stopped her rambling as soon as she walked through the doorway, but he enjoyed listening to her talk, and there was also an admittedly sly part of Jason which wanted to see just how long it would take his brunette friend to realize what was happening around her, how long it would take her to blow her top. Because Elizabeth was going to have a fit, and the anticipation of her temper-tantrum was half of the pleasure of experiencing Elizabeth's wrath.  
  
“So, tell me,” she insisted, dumping her things – a heavy book bag, no doubt filled with research rather than the schoolwork she should have been lugging around, a purse, and a sweater he knew she carried with her in case the late spring weather suddenly turned temperamental as it was wont to do in upstate New York. “Did you go to the orphanage? Contact some of your mother's old friends and acquaintances? What? What did you do today to further the plan?”  
  
Instead of answering, Jason just tipped his head, nodding to a point just behind and past the brunette's shoulder. As she whirled around to look, his smirk turned into a full-fledged grin when Elizabeth's hips popped out haughtily and her little hands automatically fisted upon her jean clad curves. “What. The. Hell. Is. That. Moore?”  
  
Around the rim of a lukewarm cup of coffee and through his smile, he replied, “it's a dress.”  
  
“Yeah, not shit, Sherlock. I work for Chloe. I recognize one of her garment bags when I see one.”  
  
“Well, then, good,” Jason remarked, leaning back in his leather office chair, the creek of the stiff seat making Elizabeth peer back behind her and glare in his direction. “Then you should know how to put the thing on. I need to change, and Chloe's expecting us in the park in half an hour.”  
  
“For what?” The words barely managed to escape past his friend's gritted teeth.  
  
“For our wedding.”  
  
Her jaw fell wide open. Her eyes boggled. Her cheeks were suddenly suffused with a wave of warm color. And then her gaze narrowed dangerously. That's when Elizabeth Webber exploded. “What the hell are you talking about?!”  
  
“Hey,” Jason defended, standing up and holding his hands out before his body in a timeless gesture of innocence. “I'm just doing what I was told. Last week, when you brought this crazy idea to me, you said...”  
  
“It's not crazy,” she interrupted. “It's bloody frickin' brilliant, Moore, and don't you forget it.”  
  
“Anyway,” he ignored her. “You said that our first step was to get married. So, when you called this morning and told me to start putting the plan into motion, I set up a wedding.”  
  
“You mean you got me a dress,” she translated.  
  
“And a maid of honor, and a marriage license, and I secured permission to use the park's gazebo, and I even bought you a cake.” Rounding his desk, he came to stand directly in front of the irate woman he was going to wed that very afternoon. “Do you have a problem with that,” he challenged her.  
  
“As a matter of fact, I do, Moore,” Elizabeth returned. “This is a business arrangement, not some romantic fantasy for you to act out with me as your very own mail-order bride.”  
  
“Well, if the shoe fits, Webber,” he taunted her, partly in jest and partly in all seriousness. “After all, you're only marrying me for my money.” Despite the validity of his statement, he saw that, underneath all _his fiancee's_ bluster, his barb had struck a mark. She visibly flinched. Softening his tone and his stance, Jason said, “you know we have to do this right, don't you?”  
  
“Because of the Q's,” she realized, nodding her head in agreement. “If they don't believe the sincerity of our marriage, they'll try to undermine it. That means pictures, and a story, and people who can vouch for us.”  
  
“Plus,” he added, surprising the both of them when he reached out and took hold of one of her soft, petite hands. “You deserve a real wedding, Elizabeth, not some tacky trip to a Vegas chapel or some twenty minute ceremony in a judge's chambers. While we might not be getting married for traditional reasons, we are still getting married, and we're going to be together for a while. Who knows when or if you'll ever get married again.”  
  
At the thought of Elizabeth wearing a symbolic white dress for another man, his chest clenched. It wasn't so much the idea of her leaving him, of her divorcing him, in order for her to find someone else that bothered Jason so much in that moment but just the idea of someone else getting to experience with her what they were about to share together. And, for someone who wasn't a very possessive man, especially when it came to other people, the fleeting seconds of tension, of tightening around his heart, baffled him. But he pushed his discomfort and his thoughts aside to refocus upon what the woman before him was saying.  
  
“But, Moore? A Chloe original?” Scoffing, she teased, “you're as whacked as Ryan Chamberlain.”  
  
“It was Chloe's idea.” At her confused expression – her small nose crinkled up adorably, he expanded, “I went to her office this morning – told her we were getting married, asked her for her help in picking out a dress, you know... that sort of thing. Anyway, she insisted that she had the perfect dress for you. It was something new that she was working on. When I told her that I couldn't afford it, she talked for about five minutes straight until I just... gave in. It's no wonder the two of you get along so well. You both ramble.”  
  
Huffing, Elizabeth defended herself, “I do not ramble! And Chloe's my boss. Of course I get along with her. I _have_ to.”  
  
“It's more than that, and you know it.” When she rolled her eyes – the only concession he had a feeling he was going to be receiving, Jason pressed on, “after I accepted the dress, the next thing I know, she's insisting that I leave everything to her, that I just take care of the rings, the license, the location, and the cake, and she'd meet us in the park at 4:15.”  
  
“Why 4:15?”  
  
“Something about the ceremony starting at 4:30, so that the marriage would start off on an upswing.” Shrugging his shoulders, Jason admitted, “I'm really not sure. At that point, she wasn't making much sense to me.”  
  
“You know,” Elizabeth glowered at him. “I could really choke you right now.” Tossing her hands up into the air, she exclaimed, “you can be such a freaking girl, Moore! I mean, I was perfectly content with getting married in my jeans and a t-shirt.” Before he could interject even a syllable of defense, she continued, “but, at the same time, I could kiss you as well.”  
  
Now, that certainly captured his attention. Without conscious thought, he found his gaze riveted to the brunette's lips as she continued to talk, watching her plump mouth move around and shape the words rolling off her moist, pink tongue, a tongue he suddenly couldn't stop thinking about. “Kiss me,” he managed to croak out in question.  
  
“Of all the people we know, in your weird, romantic ineptness, you turned to Chloe Morgan... Lila Quartermaine's distant cousin, _your_ distant cousin. You asked her to help plan our wedding. Hell, she's going to be in our wedding. Nothing will sound more legit to the Q's than if one of their own waxes poetic about our marriage.” Just as soon as the grin appeared upon _his fiancee's_ face, though, it fell away, and Elizabeth was frowning at him once more. “Was Chloe surprised when you announced our engagement?”  
  
Remembering his conversation with the designer from earlier that day, Jason tilted his head to the side in recollection. “Actually, no,” he finally answered, astonishing himself just as much as he did the brunette before him. “She wasn't surprised at all.”  
  
“Weird.”  
  
“Well, you must have mentioned me a few times to her,” he rationalized.  
  
“Nope, don't think so,” Elizabeth countered, arguing.  
  
“Then maybe she's seen us hanging out before.”  
  
“Moore,” she responded pointedly. “We don't hang out. You pour; I drink. You listen; I complain. Besides, you can't tell me that Chloe's ever set foot in Jake's before.”  
  
“We've spent time with each other outside of Jake's,” he insisted.  
  
“Never.” As they both contemplated the designer's less-than-surprised... more like 'well, this was certainly expected' reaction, the room fell quiet. Suddenly, Elizabeth shouted, “ha! You must have said something to Jax!”  
  
“I don't talk to Jax.”  
  
“Sure you do,” she waved him off. “He's a businessman, you're a businessman. You both... are businessy.”  
  
“Businessy isn't a word, Elizabeth.”  
  
“Well, it should be,” she insisted.  
  
“I own a bar; Jax owns a multi-billion dollar corporation. We don't exactly run in the same circles.”  
  
A dangerous glitter sparked to life in her midnight blue eyes. “You will soon.”  
  
The thought of being Jasper Jax's equal made his mouth go dry, made his palms sweat, and made his eyes start to twitch. Not wanting to dwell on the fact that Jason was usually uncomfortable around vast displays of wealth and those people who were capable of putting on such showcases, he instead focused upon the woman before him – the woman who had no such qualms, the woman who was his partner in crime, the woman who, through her devious plan, was injecting a sense of vitality and adrenaline into his life that, up until a week prior, he hadn't even known he was missing _and_ craving. Or maybe it was just Elizabeth that he was....  
  
Clearing his throat, he gruffly ordered, “take the dress upstairs and get dressed. I'll get changed down here, call you a cab to take you to the park, and then leave so we don't accidentally see each other.”  
  
“Moore,” she groaned dramatically. “Seriously. Enough is enough with all this traditional wedding mumbo-jumbo. We can just ride together.”  
  
Catching her off guard and, if truth be told, himself off guard as well, Jason reached up to cup one side of _his fiancee's_ porcelain face with his rough, calloused palm. “We're playing with stakes that are high enough here already, Elizabeth. We don't need to tempt fate even more by playing fast and loose with traditions.”  
  
She leaned in closer to him, licking her lips and grinning saucily. “But isn't the risk half the fun?” Before he could reply, she flounced off, laughing gayly, her one-of-a-kind designer dress haphazardly, carelessly, tossed over her arm.  
  
Taking a deep, bracing breath, he moved into his small, connected bathroom to change.

 

* * *

 

Despite the fact that he had left before Elizabeth, Jason had decided to take the long way to the park, electing to ride his bike through the sleepy back roads of Port Charles before making the trip to his own wedding, lost in thought and in the speed such a release afforded him.  
  
He had tried to excuse his behavior and write off his insistence that he and Elizabeth Webber share a real wedding as just another link in the chain of their plot, in his desire to make sure that their fake marriage didn't deprive her of yet another important moment in any woman's life. But the truth of the matter was that he had insisted upon a wedding because _he_ had wanted one. While _his fiancee_ might have seen them as former acquaintances who were now business partners (if running a scam, no matter how much truth such a scam was based upon, counted as a business arrangement), he had always been attracted to the brunette. Inappropriate or not, that's why he had hired her to work in his bar, despite the fact that she had absolutely no bartending experience, and that's why, when he noticed how creatively stifled she felt pouring beer and mixing drinks, he had helped her get a job with Chloe.  
  
Secret relative or not, wealthy heiress who dated a billionaire or not, as unlikely as it was, he and Chloe Morgan were friends. Their camaraderie was surprising given the fact that they ran in completely different circles, but, after he helped her out one night with a flat tire – he had been riding the cliff roads and she had been on her way to some fancy party when she ran over a nail, puncturing her tire in an area with absolutely no cell phone reception, whenever they had seen each other around town, they had always shared a few kind words and sometimes even a laugh or two. They'd have coffee at Kelly's, talk about Europe in the park, and even once he had gone out to dinner with the fashion maven and her mogul boyfriend. So, when he had gone to her and asked for her to keep Elizabeth in mind in case she ever had a job opening, Chloe had only been more than happy to hire the perky brunette.  
  
And, now, she was practically responsible for planning his entire marriage... well, except for the shady, underhanded aspects of it.  
  
As he watched Elizabeth walk towards him on Jax's arm, looking far more gorgeous than what was prudent for his sanity, he couldn't help but think that, if nothing else, at least he had one decent relative on his father's side of the family... not that Chloe was aware of their connection yet. He also couldn't help but think that he hoped his friend wouldn't be hurt when he and Elizabeth made their grand revelation. While he had no problem using the Q's money to help better the town he had grown up poor and forgotten in, he wasn't gunning for the first family of Port Charles either. He wasn't bitter, or resentful, or even angry that they had either ignored his existence or failed to determine his connection to them; he just didn't think the majority of the clan were very nice people, and they certainly didn't have a need for 780 million dollars... on their own.  
  
Startling him out of his thoughts, Chloe leaned across the flower strewn aisle and whispered in his ear, “Oh, Jason! I knew that was the perfect dress for her. Elizabeth looks absolutely breathtaking.”  
  
She did, too; he had to agree, though he didn't say the words out loud to the designer beside him but, instead, just nodded. Anxiously, he tugged at his left ear, mumbling in return, “thanks... for everything.”  
  
“Oh, it was my pleasure. I don't care what Elizabeth said. No woman wants to elope. I'm so glad you came to me for help.”  
  
His bride and her escort were almost to where the two of them were standing in the alter, waiting, but Jason had one more thing he wanted to say, a question he wanted to ask. “What, uh, what kind of flowers are these,” he queried, nodding towards the thousands of buds arranged around, below, and above them in a canopy of snowy pink clouds. It wasn't so much that he was a flower connoisseur; he just figured he should know so he could tell Elizabeth... for their story, of course.  
  
“They're plum blossoms,” Chloe murmured. When he just looked at her blandly, she explained, “they mean beauty and longevity, and I felt those were two fitting sentiments for today's celebration.” Despite the reality of their situation, Jason wished for her words to be true. “Plus, every woman deserves to literally walk in beauty at least once in her life, and what better day for Elizabeth to do so than her wedding day?”  
  
He would have told her that Elizabeth, all on her own, walked in beauty _everyday_ , but, before he could, the woman in question was by his side, looking so regal, so miraculously perfect, so frightened.  
  
“Hey,” he whispered, slipping one of her tiny hands into the safe, much larger confines of his own grip.  
  
“Hey,” his bride returned shakily, a crooked grin lifting just a single corner of her full, ripe mouth.  
  
A half an hour later, they were married. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VISUALS:
> 
> [Elizabeth's Wedding Dress](http://i197.photobucket.com/albums/aa237/oyhumbug/Other/Screenshot2013-09-29at121738PM_zps4d9f369e.png)
> 
> [The Flowers](http://i197.photobucket.com/albums/aa237/oyhumbug/Other/p5_zps9fa37872.jpg)


	3. Part Three

**Chapter Three**

**FNF#57: Greatest Story Ever Told by Oliver James**

Really, she was running on such a streak of amazing luck.  
  
Peering around the corner of the hospital corridor, Elizabeth couldn't help but marvel at the latest winning hand fate had dealt her. First, there had been the letter revealing Jason's paternity, and, now, she was about to turn her yearly into their most decisive battle strategy yet. Things like this just didn't usually happen to her. The only thing Elizabeth could figure was that, after a couple weeks in Audrey's presence, the big cheese in the sky realized exactly what type of hell she had been living with since she was fifteen thanks to the old battleax and decided to give her a break. The only fly in her logic ointment was the wedding Jason had insisted upon.   
  
While she could understand his thinking – the Q's would be more likely to believe in their relationship if one of their own could attest to it, if they could see pictures of it, but, between the dress, and all the flowers, and Chloe's tears, everything had felt just a little too real for her comfort. And that wasn't even considering Jason's reaction to the whole spectacle. Her partner in crime had seemed perfectly at ease standing beside her... before a minster. If she didn't know better which – thankfully, she did, Elizabeth would have believed that a part of Jason _had_ wanted to marry her for reasons that had nothing to do with even a single one of the Quartermaine's 780 million dollars.   
  
Denying her own ruminations, Elizabeth shoved any and all of her doubts aside. If she was going to take advantage of the opportunity which had presented itself to her – and she was, then she needed a clear head. Kudos from Audrey's new target of torment or not – and her good luck might not have even been that; it could have been the new brownie recipe she had found which called for applesauce rather than butter... what, with that whole an apple a day cliché and everything. Whatever the reason for her sudden kind turn from destiny, if she was going to pull off what she had planned, Elizabeth needed to focus. And smile. And blush, and glow, and simper. And do everything else that a disgustingly blissful newlywed was known to do.   
  
Setting her sights upon Amy Vining, busily pretending not to be watching her surroundings while she really faked filling out some patient charts, Elizabeth grinned wickedly. Running into the legendary hospital gossip really had been coincidence. When she had left her house that morning, all she had anticipated accomplishing at GH was flashing her lady parts to Doctor Meadows and getting another year's supply of birth control. But, then, she had stepped off the elevator, and there her Cracker Jack box prize had been waiting for her – all shiny and golden like a ray a hope in a place that usually gave her hives. Seeing the nosy nurse had immediately sent Elizabeth's mind spinning into overdrive. The whole time her legs had been in stirrups, her brain had been elsewhere, quickly yet methodically concocting a game plan that she knew would prove to be full proof.   
  
And the best part?  
  
If Audrey could see her in that moment, the old wicked witch would be chomping on her own broomstick. Her grouch of a grandmother had been known to say that gossip was the root of all evil, and no one embraced gossip like Amy Vining. Then again, though, her Grams had also claimed that the arts, vanity, gluttony, lack of respect for one's elders, and television were the root of all evil, too, so Elizabeth had dismissed the old bat's warnings long before she bought the farm. But the thought of needling her former guardian, of doing something that Audrey passionately disapproved of with a woman Audrey had despised and looked down upon only made Elizabeth's little coup that afternoon that much sweeter.   
  
“Hey, Nurse Vining,” she greeted warmly, approaching the hub's counter. Making herself comfortable, Elizabeth dropped her purse onto the cluttered ledge and folded her hands – making sure her left one was visible – on top of her bulky bag. “Since I'm already here, I figured that I might as well make my next appointment.”  
  
“Sure,” the hospital employee readily agreed, returning Elizabeth's smile. “Just let me pull up your file here....” The nosy blonde's words faded off as she turned to the computer nearest to Elizabeth and started to type. As she worked, Amy talked. “I haven't seen you since the funeral. How are you doing, you know... with everything?”  
  
Sighing, she launched into her act. “It was rough at first,” she admitted. “Between making all of the arrangements and then going through my grandmother's estate, not to mention the fact that I had to fit in classes and work, too. There was a while there when I wasn't sure I'd get everything done.” Infusing her next words with simpering pleasure, Elizabeth pretended to coo, “I don't know what I would have done without Jason.”  
  
She could practically see the nurse perking up and taking the figurative bait. “Jason?”  
  
“You know, Jason Moore,” Elizabeth informed her. “His mom, Susan Moore, died when he was a baby. He owns Jake's. I used to work for him.”  
  
“Oh, yes. I remember Audrey complaining about... well, that doesn't really matter now, does it,” Amy said hurriedly, apparently not wanting to speak ill of the dead. It was good to know there were at least some people the blonde didn't like to gossip about. “Anyway, are you and Jason... dating?”  
  
“We were.”  
  
“Oh, no! Did you break up?” Though Amy tried to sound sympathetic, she just came across as curious.  
  
“Actually, we got married,” Elizabeth announced, flashing her simple platinum wedding band – another aspect of her wedding which had freaked her out, but she refused to think about that in the middle of her performance or in front of Amy Vining.   
  
“Wow, congratulations! I had no idea that you were even seeing anyone. Your grandmother never mentioned anything, but, then again....” And that's when the dam broke. Elizabeth could visibly see the older woman standing across from her connect the dots. She had come from an appointment with her OB-GYN. She had requested to make another appointment, while, at the same time, failing to mention for when she wanted that next appointment to be. And she had gotten married suddenly – without warning, without a lengthy courtship, without even announcing her engagement. Leaning forward, the nurse whispered, “you're not... pregnant, are you?”  
  
Laughing uproariously, Elizabeth waved off the question. “Of course not!”  
  
“Oh,” Amy exclaimed, pulling back and standing up straight once more. Even if she didn't say anything else, the blonde's disappointment was palpable.   
  
Deciding to not give her a chance to recover, Elizabeth tossed the nurse her next pre-orchestrated curveball. “But that doesn't mean I won't be soon, if you know what I mean.” She completed the leading statement with a lewd wiggle of her eyebrows. “I mean, have you seen Jason Moore? The man's gorgeous, and, between us two girls, he's insatiable. I don't know who the man's father is, but I can only guess that he was a legendary stud during his day.” Becoming crestfallen, she sadly remarked, “actually, that's why I'm here.”  
  
“Jason's father... he didn't _give_ his son something, did he, that Jason has now passed onto you?”   
  
“Nothing like that,” Elizabeth reassured the older woman. Just like she thought, she gave Amy just a smidgeon of information, and the nosy nurse's mind shot off like a runaway train. “We're just... well, someday I'm sure we'll have children, and, when we do, we want to do things the right way, you know – make sure that our kids are healthy. I know my family medical history, but Jason doesn't. We're trying to find out everything we can, but the orphanage where he was raised doesn't really have any information, and they were never told who his biological father was.”  
  
“What does that have to do with you coming to see Doctor Meadows?”  
  
“Well, if we can't find anything out about Jason's history, then I wanted to just make sure that I had a perfectly good, clean bill of health.”  
  
Already bored with the pragmatic discussion Elizabeth was offering her, Amy's mind was obviously searching for something juicier to focus upon. “Hm... you said Susan Moore, right? Why does that name sound familiar to me?”  
  
“I don't know,” she said casually, shrugging her shoulders. “I mean, you couldn't have been her nurse, because you didn't work here all those years ago, right?”  
  
Amy snorted. “I wish! Honey, I'm older than I look.”  
  
“Oh, so maybe you did work her case?”  
  
“No, I don't think so,” the blonde answered. “Tell me a little about her. Refresh my memory, and we'll see if what you say jogs anything. Usually, I'm like a steel trap.”  
  
“Well, from what we've been able to discover from research, she was related to Alice and Heather Grant. She came here during the late seventies and became involved with Mitch Williams. At first, Jason and I thought maybe he was Jason's father, but then we found out that Mitch left town with Tracy Quartermaine before Jason was conceived, so that idea didn't pan out. And that's pretty much as far as we've gotten. It's weird, though. It's like... someone's purposely trying to erase her presence from this town, like they don't want anyone to find out who she was involved with, and that only makes us even more curious, because, if we're right, and that's the case, Jason's biological father could be someone really important... someone like a Baldwin, or a Barrington, or even a Quartermaine. But, then again, that's just ridiculous, right? I mean, if someone like that had fathered Jason, wouldn't they have just come forward and claimed him? It's not like they couldn't afford to be a parent, and Susan died during childbirth. No custody battle there.”  
  
Finishing her monologue, Elizabeth just innocently stared up at the veteran nurse, waiting for Amy to respond. What she found was beyond reassuring... and amusing, for that matter. Amy Vining's mouth was hanging open in a deep O shape, her eyes wide with astonishment. All in all, she looked like she was caught in the midst of a silent scream of shock.   
  
Pretending as though she didn't notice the older woman's state, she casually changed topics. “You know what? Forget about making that appointment. I mean, who knows if I'll even need to have a yearly this time next year. Maybe I'll be pregnant and seeing you every other week. Anyway, thanks for listening, Nurse Vining. It felt good just to get all of mt thoughts out there.” With a bounce to her step and a jaunty wave, she added over her shoulder, “have a good night!”  
  
Instead of boarding one of the elevators, Elizabeth moved down another one of the hospital's hallways, the one which led towards the stairs. That way, she could, once more, spy on the nosy nurse in the hopes of seeing what Amy would do with the information she had surely pieced together. And, really, it wasn't that giant of a leap. How Alan, Monica, all the other Q's, Amy Vining, and everyone else in Port Charles had not put the pieces of Jason's paternity together years and years ago, she'd never know. Unless...?  
  
Before she could finish her own thought, a page went off over the hospital's PA system, calling Doctor Monica Quartermaine to the third floor hub and distracting her. Supremely self-satisfied, Elizabeth left her cloak and daggers position behind and entered the stairwell, practically skipping down the concrete risers.   
  
She could almost feel the 1500 thread count sheets at the Quartermaine mansion calling her name.


	4. Part Four

**Chapter Four**

**Prompt #59: “I have learned from experience that the greater part of our happiness or misery depends on our dispositions and not on our circumstances.” _~ Martha Washington_**

At times... meaning, when she wanted to, Elizabeth Webber could look like the most innocent woman in the world. She'd wear her hair in big, soft curls, framing her face. She's smile – a coy, demure little grin that, to someone who didn't know her, spoke of contentment and graciousness. And she'd fold her hands together in front of her body and practically skip towards the object of her faux naivete. Elizabeth called it her Mona Lisa look, but Jason knew better than to believe it.  
  
So, when she walked into his bar that night and focused her wide eyed, compelling gaze upon him, he cringed in fear and sighed in acceptance, because, when Elizabeth appeared as though she were purity personified, he knew that there would be no escaping her. Maybe they had only been married for a few days, and perhaps they weren't sharing a bedroom – yet, but he had known the brunette for years. In the past, he had been her boss; he had helped her secure her job with Chloe; and, on the day of their wedding, he had finally, after months and months of wanting more from his former bartender than a friendly wave and her dependency upon his accounting skills, kissed her. It might have been staged because they had gotten married before witnesses who needed to believe the validity of their vows, but he had meant every second of the embrace, every touch. Not that Elizabeth was aware of that fact, though.  
  
Usually, Jason found himself amused by Elizabeth's antics. While he was known for being quiet and shy, she was anything but, and her stories always proved to be entertaining, her tricks fun as long as you were included in on the joke, but Jake's was hopping that night. He had a full room, more drink orders than he could fill himself alone, and he would have preferred for his wife to save whatever it was that had her smirking with pride and self-satisfaction until they were alone later back at the house he was now sharing with her and, instead of confessing her no-doubt dirty little secret to him, slip on an apron and help him behind the bar.   
  
Prepared to be annoyed with her antics or not, though, Jason had to admit to himself that, whether he was slightly frightened of what Elizabeth had gotten herself into _now_ , he sure as hell appreciated the view she made as she strutted her way towards him. Despite his best efforts, he returned her grin and found himself already loosening up in her presence. It was always like that around her, though – whether she was poised with confidence, still with melancholy, exuberant with passionate energy, or morose in her anger, Elizabeth Webber, no matter what, made his days – and nights – better.   
  
“Dude, are you going to pour me that beer, or are you waiting for the hops to grow out back?”  
  
The slightly drunk and belligerent voice immediately made Jason crash back down to reality... along with the fact that somehow, when he wasn't looking, his bar had become a popular hangout for barely legal college students. Apparently, Jake's was cool in a retro-grunge, minimalistic way... or so he had been told by Elizabeth one evening a few months back when he had complained about the sudden shift in his clientele.  
  
Without rising to the frat boy's bait, he poured the draft, slid it across the slick, sticky mahogany, and glowered when the prick tossed just enough change on the bar to cover his drink. College kids could definitely drink, but they didn't tip worth a shit. Or, at least, the _male_ college students didn't tip him, but they sure as hell used to when Elizabeth was working behind the bar.   
  
With that thought, he remembered his saucy wife and looked up, only to realize that she hadn't made it to one of the stools situated in front of him yet. And Elizabeth always sat at the bar. While Jake's might have been busy that night, it didn't take one attractive, petite woman _that_ long to worm her way through the buzzed crowd. Glancing around his patrons, Jason sought out a glimpse of the woman he both anticipated getting to talk to and feared to hear what exactly she had to say. What he found immediately made him see red.   
  
Somehow, she had ended up boxed into a corner, her back against the wall, a table and chairs barely separating her from the jerk who was bothering her. Without thinking of the consequences of his actions – Elizabeth didn't like to be rescued, the last thing he needed was for a fight to break out that evening, and he had no idea which one of his customers was harassing his new wife, Jason simply reacted, charging out from behind the bar and storming over towards where Elizabeth was essentially being manhandled.   
  
With every step he took, he became more and more livid. At first, he had just noticed irritation in his former bartender's gaze, but, quickly, that irritation was morphing into fear, and the very last thing he ever wanted Elizabeth to feel was terror, especially not in his bar. Jake's had always been a safe place for her, some place to hide out when the pressure of being Audrey Hardy's granddaughter became too much for her to bear. Whether their ridiculous plan worked out or not – hell, whether their marriage lasted or not, he never wanted Elizabeth to feel uncomfortable around him or at Jake's, and the last thing she needed was some drunk SOB freaking her out. Plus, it didn't help matters that he could clearly see her delicate wrist gripped in what was obviously an iron tight, male fist.   
  
“You have three seconds to take your hands off of _my_ wife.”  
  
“Or what are you going to do about it, Moore,” a wasted, belligerent voice challenged, turning around to stare at Jason with liquor glazed eyes, the momentum of his movements carrying Elizabeth – who was still clutched in his grip – with him. “My family practically owns this town, and you're just a poor little orphan boy that no one wanted.”  
  
Without responding verbally, he, instead, reached out and pried A.J. Quartermaine's sweaty fingers off of Elizabeth's wrist himself. Once she was free, he said, “you need to leave.”  
  
“I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. In fact,” the other man added, lecherously winking towards the still cowering brunette, “Elizabeth and I were just getting... reacquainted. Did you know that her family and mine are old friends? I mean, Elizabeth's always been the black sheep of the Webber's, the embarrassment, but, then again,” he smiled sloppily, “so have I.”  
  
“You don't get to insult her.”  
  
“Hey, man,” A.J. protested, holding up his hands defensively, the gesture making him rock somewhat on his feet. “I didn't mean it as an insult. However, the fact that she went slumming and married you, that's a whole different matter. You do realize what this means, right,” he asked Elizabeth, glancing at her over his shoulder. “When you finally get sick of playing blue collar mattress tag with Moore, here, you're going to have to really set your sights high in order to redeem yourself in society's eye... say by sleeping with me.”  
  
Thirty seconds earlier, Elizabeth had been timid with uncertainty and scared, but, as soon as A.J. started to insult him, Jason watched as his wife's back stiffened, her already stormy eyes darkened into a midnight tempest of a rage, and her full lips curled up into a disgusted sneer. “How are the paper clips, Junior?”  
  
Despite the situation, Jason snickered, and the Quartermaine heir apparent turned a decided shade of red before paling in anger. Before A.J. could open his mouth, before he could take even a single step in Elizabeth's direction, Jason fisted his hands in the other man's dress shirt and started to drag him out of the bar, A.J. complaining, and ranting, and berating him the entire time. Once they were clear of the back door, he tossed him down onto the wet pavement of the alley behind Jake's, relishing the fact that the drunken jerk landed in a mud puddle. “If I were you,” he warned him, “I wouldn't come back here. And,” Jason added, his voice lowering with intent and promise, “I'd stay away from my wife, too.”  
  
Turning back around, he reentered the bar, pleased to see Elizabeth had already taken his place behind the mahogany and was serving drinks in a far more pleasant manner than he had ever been able to master. Though he did not doubt her capabilities, he wanted to have a few moments alone with her to talk, so, the sooner they waited on all his customers, the sooner they would be able to sneak back into his office for a little bit of privacy. He wanted to make sure that she was really okay, and he wanted to check her wrist. He wanted to apologize for A.J., ask her about her day, and just... be _with her_ for a minute or two.   
  
In perfect tandem, they poured drafts, mixed drinks, and collected their money, but Jason's mind, as he worked without thought, wasn't on the recipe for Long Island Ice Tea or whether or not he needed to restock the ice. Rather, all he could think about was the fact that the very same man who had attacked Elizabeth just moments before was his biological half brother. He and the entitled, pompous, rude ass of a man that was A.J. Quartermaine shared the same father; they shared blood, and, not for the first time, Jason found himself wondering if he was doing the right thing by going along with Elizabeth's crazy plan. Sure, they would be able to help out a lot of people with the kind of money the Quartermaine's had, and, yes, he could completely admit to himself that a part of him had agreed to her insane idea because it meant he would be able to spend more time with the woman he had just, days before, married. But was it worth it?  
  
“Alright, that's it,” she stated, taking him by the hand and pulling him into the back where his office was. Explaining her actions as they went, Elizabeth added, “if I have to watch you mix one more drink the wrong way, I'm going to pull _your_ hair out, and, frankly, Moore, you'd look like shit bald.” Once they were alone and the door was closed behind them, she asked, “okay, what's got your granny panties in a bunch this time?”  
  
Clenching his fists and gritting his teeth, he snapped, “A.J.”  
  
“You're still thinking about that piggish prat? Scoffing, his wife dismissed, “look, I don't like to give compliments out, because, usually, the people who deserve them are egotistical enough already, but you're like.... 780 million times the man than Junior is.”  
  
“Then why the hell do you want me to admit to the world that I'm a Quartermaine? Why would you ever want to subject, not just me, but both of us to that insane asylum they call a home?”  
  
“No, they call it a freaking mansion, genius, and I want to subject the both of us to it because, if you don't inherit that fortune, Asshat A.J. will, and that would be bad. Very, very bad. Besides,” Elizabeth reasoned, “not all of the Q's are terrible.”  
  
“Really,” he challenged. “Name one that doesn't piss me off or make you break out in hives?”  
  
“Lila.”  
  
“I still don't believe that she's actually related to them,” Jason protested.  
  
“And Ned's not so bad either,” Elizabeth claimed.   
  
“He wears leather pants. It's no wonder you like him.”  
  
“Look, if you don't want to do this....”  
  
“No,” Jason said, already backtracking. After just a few days with Elizabeth, he knew that he wouldn't be able to handle losing her. “We'll stick with the plan.”  
  
“Oh good,” she exclaimed, relieved, “because it'd be too late to change your mind anyway.”  
  
Immediately focused, immediately on edge again, he demanded to know, “what. Did. You. Do?”  
  
“Nothing,” she haughtily defended herself.   
  
And, with her denial, that damn, Cheshire, I swallowed a canary and I liked it, shit-eating grin was back.   
  
Oh yeah. Innocent, Elizabeth Webber was not.


	5. Part Five

**Chapter Five**

**Prompt #60: “The failure of any lie is directly related to the number of people who know the truth.” _~ Tracy Quartermaine Spencer_**

Well, it sure as hell hadn't taken long for ol' Eddie Q to get his grubby, greedy paws on the news that he had a new heir. Elizabeth wasn't sure what Amy's exact gossip attack had consisted of – if she had gleefully whispered behind patient files to her fellow nurses or if she had gone directly to the Chief of Staff himself with the belated congratulations, but she also didn't care. Her well-played conversation with the hospital's favorite scandal-monger had worked according to her plan, and that's all that mattered. The bomb had been dropped, and her hands were clean, allowing both she and Jason to sit back and watch the destruction level the town of Port Charles. The only thing that she hadn't anticipated was just how quickly Pops Quartermaine had jumped at the chance to reel his new grandson into the family fold... and that, instead of going to the source of all his newfound primogeniture joy, he had come to her.  
  
Really, the speed in which everything was progressing was even flabbergasting Elizabeth. It seemed like just yesterday Jason Moore had been her quiet former boss and sexy personal accountant, but now he was her husband and, more importantly, he was her co-conspirator against Port Charles' very own first family... or so the Q's believed of themselves. In just a matter of days, her entire life had changed, and, sure, it was at her own design that said changes had occurred, but now even Elizabeth was having a hard time keeping up with the rapid shifts of her situation in life.

As she waited for the old man to get to the point of their little visit which had come at his formal request – yep, no summons from his secretary for her; Elizabeth now ranked high enough to score (be saddled with) a personal call from Edward Quartermaine himself, she had to bite back a smirk. The geezer was such a goner already. So excited over the prospect of a new _male_ Q to groom and mold in his own image, Eddie was practically foaming at the mouth to do her bidding. It had taken them twenty minutes just to get through the pleasantries. Offers of you name it, it had been given to her. Something to eat, something to drink, his chair, a new chair. Hell, the fawning had been so over the top that Mr. Q had even gone so far as to send his secretary off for a footstool for Elizabeth, no doubt in the hopes that she was already knocked up like a brood mare. For a little while, making the old blowhard jump through hopes at her command and to suit her every whim had been fun, but she had quickly tired of the amusement, insisting that they get down to business. After all, as she had reminded Edward cheekily, she was a newlywed, and their little impromptu meeting was keeping her away from her new husband. Pops Quartermaine had eaten that sappy shit up like candy.  
  
Now, though, he was droning on about ELQ. About stock options. About corner offices and fancy titles which, to the rest of the world, would translate into 'I have no formal training or even talent for my position, but I had the genes, so back off bitches, because someday I'm going to inherit this whole kit and kaboodle, and then you'll work for me'... or something to that effect. Holding up a hand, she dared to do something in Edward Quartermaine's office that, she'd bet her bottom dollar, not a soul before her had been brave (or stupid) enough to attempt: she interrupted the senile goat.  
  
“Please, Mr. Quartermaine...” Barely three words into her thought, and Eddie tried to cut back in, but Elizabeth smoothly kept talking, ignoring his wiggling jowls which intimated that he _really_ wanted to say something. “You ask me here today, and you lay this... this ginormous piece of news on me that my new husband just so happens to be your long-lost grandson, and, frankly, I don't know what to say or what you want from me. While Jason and I were looking into his parentage, I can honestly tell you that, never in a million years, would we have ever thought this... his being a Quartermaine... was possible even a week ago! I'm just... you should really be talking to Jason about this, Sir, and not me.”  
  
But Pops Quartermaine just smirked, his tricky old eyes glimmering with mischief and satisfaction. “That's where you're wrong, my dear.” Sighing in what could only be described as a put upon manner, Edward lowered his voice as he pretended to confide in Elizabeth. “Despite how the press might portray me, I've never pretended to be a perfect man, and, unfortunately, I've made many mistakes with my family.” If it wouldn't have ruined her entire game, Elizabeth would have snorted at the curmudgeon's enormous understatement. “I've bullied, and I've demeaned, and I've let both my children and my grandchild down. As a result, my only son turned his back on the family business that I built from nothing, and my daughter once withheld my heart medication from me. My three grandsons range from Ned, the oldest, who fancies himself a rock star – a ridiculous hobby let alone profession for a Quartermaine, to A.J. who, let's face it, is the town drunk, to Dillon whose head is so far in the clouds that I'd fear he was high if he wasn't such a simpleton.  
  
“But now... Now, I learn that I have a second chance.” Elizabeth was pretty sure that, if you added up all of Eddie Q's failed attempts to mentor an heir, Jason would be the old man's sixth chance, but who was she to question the math skills of the fortune 500 CEO sitting across from her? “... and I want to do it right this time. That means getting to know my new grandson, and who better to help me do so than his lovely bride?”  
  
While Elizabeth attempted to blush prettily (but she had a feeling she just ended up looking constipated, but whatever), she also averted her eyes away from the old man and barely restrained herself from rolling those very same orbs in reaction to all the bullshit Edward was spewing. If Mr. Q thought she was this easy to snow, then he should just sign his 780 million dollars over to her and Jason that very afternoon. Cashier's check, please. Because she knew _exactly_ what angle Edward was playing at. He didn't want to get to know his grandson; he wanted to find an angle to work, and he believed that Jason's brand-spanking-new wilting violet of a wife was his gravy train to the naïve schmuck station. Ha!  
  
“Oh, no, I couldn't do that,” she protested weakly. “Jason, well... he's Jason,” Elizabeth answered with a small shrug and an even smaller smile. For a moment, as she considered the man whose ears... rather small ones now that she thought about it... were no-doubt burning that afternoon, all guile left her mind and heart. True, she and Jason were only married because of the letter she had found in Audrey's desk, but that didn't mean that she didn't respect and like her admittedly hunky hubby. “He's a hard-worker. Honest. Protective. Jason's a good listener, quiet, but he has moments where he's the typical, bullheaded, frustrating... guy. He has absolutely no sense of style, he drinks beer... straight from the bottle, and he never lets me win when we play pool, no matter how I try to district or bribe him.”  
  
“So, he's a man of principle then,” the ancient buffoon across from her stated, pumping up his already over-inflated chest.  
  
“No, he's just.... Really, Mr. Quartermaine I can't sit here and tell you who my husband is, who your grandson is. After we take a blood test, and the paternity test results come back, you'll just have to take the time to get to know Jason. I can promise you that you won't regret it.” However, she couldn't promise Jason the same thing. “But, for now, I think I should be going.”  
  
Before Elizabeth could stand up, however, Edward's next words caught her so completely off guard, that she plopped back down in her seat, a stunned expression molding her mouth into a very unbecoming O. “There will be no paternity test,” the old man stated empathically. “As soon as I took a look at that boy, why I knew immediately that he was my grandson. His eyes... eyes that I hope your future children will inherit... are the very same eyes I have looked into for more than fifty years now when I look upon my beloved wife, Lila. I'm just ashamed to say that I never took the time to notice them before now.”  
  
And what was most shocking of all was that she found herself actually believing the scheming goat. While Elizabeth wouldn't trust Edward Quartermaine as far as she could throw the pudgy man, in that moment, she knew that he loved his wife. The realization made her pause for just a second in doubt – not because she felt guilty, not because she doubted her plan, and not because she didn't think Jason deserved everything that was coming to him... all 780 million of it, but because she was suddenly nervous that, everything they were about to embark on just wasn't... worth it. She flashed back to a couple of nights before when a drunken AJ had cornered her at Jake's, and, for the first time, she really considered what it would be like for herself and Jason in the veritable lion's den that was the Q mansion. But then Eddie opened his big, fat mouth again, and all her worries disappeared even more quickly than they had surfaced.  
  
“... and, if I had, then the Quartermaine name could have avoided the scandal of having one of its own living near poverty above a bar, slinging drinks to make ends meet.”  
  
After that statement... Edward and all the rest of his inbred family were finally going to get their much needed comeuppance, Elizabeth was going to make damn sure. For the way the Q's had always looked down upon her – Audrey Hardy's regrettably common granddaughter, for the way Alan had tossed his mistress and her unborn child away, and for each and every moment of suffering Jason had endured growing up an orphan....

  
Rising from her chair, Elizabeth gripped the strap of her purse so tightly in her clenched fists that she knew she'd be lucky if she got out the doors without breaking the accessory, but, still, she kept her face serene and simpering. “Thank you for inviting me here today, Mr. Quartermaine, and I can't wait for you to get to know Jason.”  
  
“Me, too, my dear, and, please,” the judgmental bastard across from her added smugly, “call me grandfather.”


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

**FNF #62: “Can miles truly separate you from friends... If you want to be with someone you love, aren't you already there?” ~ Richard Bach**

Sleeping in Elizabeth Webber's bed was _not_ what Jason had imagined it would be like.   
  
For starters, she wasn't Elizabeth Webber anymore. She was married. That alone should have ruled out any of his previous expectations, but then she was married to _him_. And, yet, the experience was anything but fulfilling. Secondly, Elizabeth wasn't sharing her bed with him. No, instead, she was down the hall in her grandmother's room, probably wide awake because she was laying in a dead woman's bed, the very same woman who would be rolling over in her grave to know that her granddaughter had married _him_ , had allowed _him_ to step foot inside of her precious Hardy home, had invited _him_ to take the only room that had seen any improvements in the last twenty years. Sure, Elizabeth hadn't lived with Audrey since she was eighteen, but her old bedroom had remained untouched since she had packed her bags and fled as soon as she became a legal adult.  
  
Rolling onto his side, Jason pushed several _more_ throw pillows off the queen sized bed, but the movement and effort were in vain. No matter what he did... or didn't do, he couldn't find a comfortable position, and he sure as hell couldn't turn his mind off. It kept replaying his conversation with Elizabeth from earlier that evening over and over again, taunting him that his current state of lone occupancy was his own damn, noble fault. Sighing in resignation, he rolled back over and stared up at the ceiling above him, allowing the scene to flow back over him.

“ _What did you do now?” Was it Jason, or was he using that phrase a lot when it came to his new wife and her... plans for them? But, once again, Elizabeth was standing before him, a cheeky grin turning up the corners of her plush mouth, and he just knew that he wasn't going to like her answer._  
  
“I just got back from a very successful powwow with Port Charles' cheesiest of big cheeses, heavy on the mold.” Wrinkling her button nose, Elizabeth added, “I think I'd classify him of the limburger variety. The man's as rotten and stinky as they come.”  
  
Jason just shook his head, leaning back in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose. “You went and saw Edward.”  
  
“Ah, I knew I married you for more than just your illegitimate Quartermaine status,” Elizabeth gushed, coming around and surprising him when she sat on the corner of his desk, her legs automatically crossing. Despite his best intentions... and his irritation with the brunette, Jason found his gaze following her movements, his gaze widening just slightly when one of her booted feet came to rest on the chair between his legs, her other dangling absently in the air. While the action was no doubt an innocent and natural instinct for Elizabeth, for Jason it was anything but, and it made him tense in his awareness. “You've got mad brain skills as well, Moore.”  
  
Without looking up from her foot, he mumbled, “glad you noticed.”

Elizabeth had then rambled on for twenty minutes, telling him all about _Eddie Q's_ audacity and arrogance and how she already had his grandfather eating out of the palm of her hand. While Jason heard enough of her summation to understand that her plan was still on track, his mind had been permanently stuck on the intimacy of their positions. Tossing and turning yet again, Jason this time grabbed one of the infuriating woman's many pillows, punching it several times. He told himself the aggression was all just in an attempt to find a comfortable position, but he had never been a good liar, and, apparently, finding out about his Quartermaine genes had not improved even his ability to lie to himself. What really irked him was the fact that his wife was so completely oblivious to... well, them.  
  
Jason didn't want to want Elizabeth. While his attraction towards her had always simmered under the surface, there but never threatening to bubble over, he had always been aware that his former employee was an attractive woman. More than that, though, he was attracted to her vibrancy. For so many years, his life had been a constant struggle until he scrimped and saved enough money to buy the bar and carve out a niche for himself. It wasn't much – his existence, but it was secure. People would always drink, come rain or shine, boom or bust. Plus, he had his bike, a pool table, and an unlimited supply of beer. What more could a guy ask for?  
  
Apparently, Jason grimaced as images of everything he wanted but couldn't have flashed through his mind, a guy could ask for a hell of a lot more, starting with excitement. Maybe it was because his childhood had been so precarious, but, whatever the reason, Jason was not a man to take risks. He lived a simple life, and he was satisfied with contentment... or at least he was until Elizabeth Webber strolled into his bar. With her, she had brought into his existence a whirlwind of energy.   
  
Yet, at the same time, she could be quiet and contemplative, too. She just hid those moments from most of the world, but he had seen them, and they had shown Jason that, despite the mask of flamboyance and snark that Elizabeth wore, she was just as lonely as he was. Unlike him, she had not been orphaned as a child. Instead, she had been all but abandoned, and perhaps those scars ran even deeper than his own. She didn't focus on her pain and insecurities, though; she didn't battle her demon daily. Instead, she buried, and she tried to forget, and she distracted herself, and, sometimes, she projected. Or maybe it was empathized...? He wasn't sure. Whatever her method of coping, he was now the target of her energies, of her anger. If she couldn't have what she wanted in life, then she was going to take from others what she thought he needed. It wasn't conventional, but it told Jason that, in her own way, Elizabeth cared for him as well.  
  
Cared. He shuddered at the word, throwing one bare forearm up to smack against his own face in resignation and frustration, hiding his eyes from the light streaming in through the windows on either side of the bed he was laying wide awake in. He didn't want Elizabeth to care for him. He wanted her to _crave_ him. The attraction he had once felt for her had now been eclipsed by outright need. Somewhere between the night when she had _proposed_ to him and that afternoon when he had practically tricked her into living in her grandmother's house with him, Jason had realized the truth.

“ _So, I'm just going to let my lease expire, and I'll move in here with you.” Before he could protest, Elizabeth kept talking. “I mean, it'll probably only be for a few weeks anyway before the Q's come knockin', requesting your presence in the family compound.” Thoughtfully, she mused, “have you ever realized how... cultish the Quartermaines are? I mean, they all live together under one roof – four generations, three branches, two races, and a servant staff in a pear tree.”  
  
“We're... you're not living above my bar, Elizabeth.”  
  
She screwed up her face in confusion, in protest. “Why not?”  
  
Because she deserved better. Because he hated the idea of her being separated from his tenants by just a thin wall. But, most of all, because there was no way in hell that Jason was going to be able to share a bed with her and _not _make it perfectly clear to his bride just why exactly he had agreed to go along with her plan... and it had nothing to do with the Quartermaine's 780 million dollars. And, as he scrambled to come up with an explanation that he could actually offer the woman sitting before him, Jason realized just how much he felt for his wife._  
  
“Because the Quartermaines think that we're a newly and happily married couple. They won't believe that if we're living above my bar.” Swiveling his chair to face her directly, he continued. “Besides, there's Audrey's house to consider, too.”  
  
“What the hell does that old bat's pink and floral mausoleum have to do with our plan?”  
  
“You have to split the profits from the house three ways with your siblings, right?” At her annoyed nod of agreement, Jason explained, “well, sell it to me. I'll buy it super cheap. We'll live in it.” When she went to protest, he interrupted her, “... for now, and I'll work on it, too, fixing it up for you so that it can be sold for a profit. Whatever we make off of it, we'll split 50-50.”  
  
Her lips pursed in a pleased expression. “Have I told you today how much I love the words community property?”

She had kissed him then. Jason groaned at the memory, flopping over onto his stomach and burying his face in his pillow, a pillow that, still, despite all the years since Elizabeth had lived with her grandmother, faintly smelled of the woman tormenting his thoughts. She had kissed him... like a freaking brother. His hand had clenched first in anticipation when he noticed her leaning towards him and then in resignation once she pulled away. And, now, he was stuck sleeping in her bed, alone, and all because he was too damn afraid to push her away by attempting to pull her closer.   
  
When he had willingly sacrificed his room above his bar for a room in a suburban family home, when he had kissed his entire savings away in a harebrained property scheme to make an effort to give Elizabeth the inheritance Audrey Hardy should have left her granddaughter, and when he had thrown away the chance to actually share a bed with _his wife_ without all the strings and awkwardness that would come when they were down the hall from the family he had never known and had never wanted, Jason had finally realized just how much trouble he was in.  
  
Snapping him out of his thoughts, he heard an irritated huff and then the tell-tale sound of old bedsprings creaking from across the hall, alerting him to the fact that, although he couldn't sleep, Elizabeth wasn't fairing any better. Oddly enough, that small realization made him feel a little better.  
  
While he might be falling for his wife, at least she wasn't completely unaffected by him, and, at that point, he'd take whatever he could get.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven  
  
FNF #64: “I'll tell you right now, there's a whole lot that I just can't do, but, baby, don't think I can't love you.” ~ “Don't Think I Can't Love You” by Jake Owens**

It was weird – going back to work, resuming her normal life.  
  
Pondering all the changes that occurred during the past several days, Elizabeth transferred hands, going from using her left fist to prop up her chin to her right, and sighing in the process. It wasn't that she didn't want to work. Since she was old enough to, Elizabeth had always had one job or another, refusing to mooch off of anyone, not because she was some paragon of female independence but because she never wanted to be indebted. Plus, she was sick and tired of sitting around and... well, waiting.   
  
She and, by extension, Jason could not appear too eager. After putting the ball in play by slipping just enough information to Amy Vining to get the nosey nurse to do their dirty work for them, Elizabeth had completed the only active part of the plan over a week ago. Since then, she had been forced into a passive role, simply sitting back and letting the runaway Q train drag her and her newfound husband along. First, Amy did some digging on their behalf, bringing forth old gossip columns and pictures, her own recollections, and hitting up some of the other hospital employees for their insights into Alan Quartermaine's philandering ways. Afterwards, it didn't take long for her to prove the dots she had connected previously thanks to her conversation with Elizabeth. Once Amy spilled the beans to her coworkers, it had been a matter of mere hours before wind of the gossip reached the chief of staff in question, his cardiac surgeon of a wife, and the family's board representative, old Eddie Q himself. Of course, that had led to her sit down with the Quartermaine patriarch and now, days later, she and Jason were still waiting... not so patiently in her case... to see what his whack job of a family was going to do about their new member.  
  
Word on the street was that the Q mansion was a war zone, the battles spilling over into the hospital hallways and the various high-end locals the family frequented about town. There had been the slap heard round the world when Monica belted her husband a good one after first confronting him about the fully ripened and mature fruits of his long ago affair. Tracy and Monica had gotten into a cat fight at the P.C. Grill a few nights before, resulting in both the Quartermaine daughter, her brother, and her father being kicked out of the mansion for two nights, the poor bastards suffering the fate of their personal, luxury suites at the family owned P.C. Hotel. Then, there was A.J. who went on a bender, trashing a bar (or ten) along the way, but, really, that was nothing new. Oh, there was also the fact that, along with the news of Jason's paternity rocking Port Charles, several new cases of 'Alan is My Long Lost Daddy' were springing up daily, the Quartermaine family lawyer – another illegitimate relative – having to squash those looking to make a quick score off the beleaguered family beneath his expensive, designer loafers.   
  
This mayhem and destruction was all well and good, but, so far, it was doing absolutely nothing for Jason's bank account... or, by extension, her bottom line, not to mention that the orphanage Jason grew up in needed a new roof, and they were no closer to being able to pay for that and any other necessary improvements to the old, rundown home for abandoned children. Quite frankly, the Q's needed to make a decision already.  
  
Embrace Jason or demand a blood test.  
  
Give him the keys to the kingdom and the checkbook to match.  
  
Shit or get off the freaking golden pot!  
  
Elizabeth wasn't sure how much more of this waiting she could handle, let alone the cabin fever that went along with living with Jason Moore. While she couldn't put her finger on what exactly had changed between her and her husband since they said their 'Whatever is Best for the Plan' disguised as 'I Do's,' there was definitely something different between them. He seemed... happy, not because they were about to swindle 780 million dollars away from the family who had tossed him out with the melted ice water from the bottom of the champagne stand following Alan's successful seduction and then impregnation of Jason's mother, but because of her. Elizabeth. His _wife_. Oh, sure, there was still an edge to Jason, a moodiness, but, underneath that, there was also contentment.   
  
He liked living with her. He liked working on her Grandmother's house. He liked ordering takeout for two or throwing a couple steaks on the grill that had suddenly appeared at the Hardy... no, make that the _Moore_ home – as declared by the new mailbox out front – and its recently stained back deck. He mixed their laundry together, washing hers along with his... and doing it better than Elizabeth ever had. He both filled and emptied the dish washer, he took off his shoes before walking through the house, and he stretched canvases for her without even having to be asked. Hell, he even put the toilet seat down – _both_ of them! He was everything a girl could want in a husband... well, except for amazing, off the charts, mind blowing sex as well, but those thoughts were just wrong.  
  
Illegal.  
  
Out of the question.  
  
Forget about it.  
  
Because Jason was her fake husband... only in a legal way, and she wasn't supposed to think about how nice he looked without a shirt while mowing the grass. And she wasn't supposed to notice that he had really great hands when he was fixing a leak in her bathroom sink. And she wasn't supposed to find herself with a sudden fascination with the color blue – light blue, crisp blue, bright blue, Jason blue.  
  
“I knew I should have insisted that you take more time off for a honeymoon.”  
  
Her boss' voice, her _husband's cousin's_ voice, startled Elizabeth so much that her right elbow slipped, so her fist fell away from her chin, causing her face to fall forward and down only for her jaw to collide with her desk, jarring her teeth together and causing Elizabeth to glower even more. And Chloe – sweet, idyllic, naïve Chloe – laughed. While Elizabeth's employer might believe that she had caught the younger woman daydreaming about her new hubby, she was so far from the truth that even Sacajawea wouldn't be able to help the designer find her way back to the trail. Yes, her thoughts had been about Jason but not for the reasons Chloe suspected. No, she was thinking about how she was going to ride her gravy train of a husband all the way to the status of independently wealthy. How she hated Audrey's house for being so... adult-like, ancient, quirky, and homey, damn it. And how, because they were taking so long to formally bring Jason into the family fold, Elizabeth might not just be satisfied with taking all of the Q's money; she might take their house, too. No matter what, though, she refused to admit that she had been contemplating the hint of hair she had seen peeking above the waistband of Jason's jeans and wondering if it was indeed a trail to happiness in need of...  
  
Chloe cleared her throat, pretended to glare, and then laughed again. “Oh, Elizabeth. You should have gotten married long ago.”  
  
“What?” Confused, she didn't censor herself. “Why in the hell would I have wanted to do that?”  
  
Her reaction caused her boss to stumble for a temporary moment, but then Chloe forged ahead, apparently dismissing Elizabeth's words and no doubt excusing them as denial. Or feigned modesty. Or defensiveness.  
  
Like she had said before: naïve.   
  
“You're just... glowing. If I could bottle your newlywed bliss, I'd spray all my models with it before they walked down the runaway, and my fashion line would always be _the_ fashion line from that point on. Plus, I'd spritz a little bit on myself, too, and Jax would be putty in my hands. I'd probably also end up with a dozen kids, because he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off of me.” Realization... or what Chloe thought was realization... dawning, the designer asked, “are you?”  
  
“Am I what?” Pretending to be dense, she posed, “radioactive? Not the last time I checked.”  
  
Chloe giggled.   
  
Oh, why couldn't she have a normal boss who bitched and moaned, who complained about her work, and threatened to fire her every other day for being lazy and incompetent?  
  
“No, silly,” her employer chastised playfully. “Kids. Babies. Pregnant,” she clarified, much to Elizabeth's displeasure. “Are you?”  
  
Despite herself, Elizabeth felt her brow furrowing. “Why does everyone keep asking me that. First, it was Amy Vining.” Granted, she had led the nosy nurse to that conclusion but still. “Then it was Edward. And now you. What? Have I porked it on? Do I suddenly look like I'm smuggling a basketball around town? Is this your not-so-subtle way of telling me to lay off the leftover wedding cake?” Again with the damn laughter. “No,” she then stated emphatically. “I'm not knocked up.”  
  
“Would it really be that awful if you were?”  
  
“Chloe,” Elizabeth threw her hands up in frustration. “Jason and I just got married.”  
  
“Ah, but you're a Quartermaine now. Maybe not in name, but...” Standing up from where she had been perched on the corner of Elizabeth's desk, Chloe added one last parting shot. “If nothing else has been solidified with the reveal of Jason's paternity it's that the Q's don't misfire, and their aim is rarely off. You might not be pregnant yet, but give it a few months... Oh,” she brightened up even further, grinning mischievously. “... and Edward wanted me to invite both you and Jason for dinner tonight. Dress formal but prepare yourselves for a hefty dry cleaning bill. The fur – Tracy's, the food – everyone's, and the furniture – Monica's, and she'll never let you forget it – is about to fly. Seven o'clock, sharp.”  
  
Chloe disappeared, and Elizabeth gulped. Oh, if she could just get her hands on a few of those pesky Q's, she'd wring their necks! It had been less than three weeks since she had concocted the plan, and already she and Jason were being invited into the lion's den. Rich people just had no patience.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

**FNF #66: “Mother is the name for God on the lips and hearts of all children.” - Eric Draven from _The Crow_**

While it might make him an idiot, Jason could admit... at least to himself... that he was willing to do just about anything for Elizabeth Webber. Hell, she was the very reason why he found himself suited up and counting silverware on a Friday night instead of working. Or riding his bike. Or even working on the house he now shared with his wife. But, no, instead, he was being subjected to a Quartermaine family dinner, the last thing anyone with their sanity intact would ever want to or willingly do. And all because of one little, mouthy, irresistible brunette.  
  
Tuning out the conversation (if one could really call how the Q's... communicated... with one another conversation) around him, Jason looked at the woman seated beside him. She looked good. Really good. And he'd be lying if he said that his willingness to do whatever she wanted of him wasn't partially inspired by his attraction to her. But it was more than that. Elizabeth was certainly one of the most beautiful women he knew, but there were other beautiful women in Port Charles, ones far less complicated and definitely not looking to drag him kicking and brooding into the Quartermaine household. Yet, perhaps that was part of what drew him to Elizabeth despite the consequences of those particular traits she possessed: determination, stubbornness, and impetuosity. Tossed in for good measure, his wife was also funny and flirtatious, insightful, and, oddly enough given her other characteristics, innocent. All in all, she made him want to protect her, to take care of her, yet she also somehow made it okay for Jason to want her to take care of him, too. And that's why they were really going through with her ridiculous plan to bamboozle the Q's.  
  
Despite everything Elizabeth might claim to the contrary, he knew that her much touted 780 million reasons to claim his parentage boiled down to just one: she wanted what was best for him. Jason decidedly doubted anything the Quartermaines could ever give anyone would make their lives better. After all, their kind of favors always came with strings attached or tax deductions. But, by going along with Elizabeth, he was now married to her, living with her, and allowing her to attempt to make his life better. Even if she couldn't see it yet, they were more married than either of the two couples they were sharing a meal with that evening.   
  
As the butler – his name was Reginald – came up behind Jason, replacing one fancy, less than actually appetizing dish with another, Jason forced himself to turn his attention back to the table and away from his musings about his wife. Given the amount of people seated in the Quartermaine dining room and the ever increasing volume of the diners as they struggled and strived to be heard above the combined din of several contrasting topics and the inevitable notes of silver striking china, actually hearing what was being said around him was easier said than done.   
  
Edward and Alan were competing with each other to see who could provide Jason with the most attractive sales-pitch: taking over ELQ or going to college to study medicine and one day taking over at General Hospital as chief of staff, respectively. Tracy and Monica were sniping at each other, using past mistakes to try to one-up each other on who had married the worst husband. Scratching above his left eyebrow, Jason had to wonder which side of the debate the two women wanted to come out on... or even if they themselves knew. Then their was AJ who was already sloshed and practically sliding out of his chair, and Ned was right there beside AJ, jeering him on. Finally, Chloe had Lila enthralled with her starry retelling of Jason and Elizabeth's nuptials, while his wife half-listened into their quiet discussion, occasionally nodding her head or offering a note of agreement to something her fashion designer boss had to say. It was oppressive, and unbearable, and everything Jason did not want for himself or Elizabeth, but he also knew that, at any second, it could become indefinitely worse.   
  
“Well, at least none of our husbands ever beat us,” Jason heard Monica's voice elevate over the rest of the group. Tsking, she added, “your poor grandmother, Elizabeth.”  
  
With a cut-glass goblet of sparkling water half raised to her pursed lips, Elizabeth paused, leveled a narrowed stare at the cardiologist, and then, after a tense moment, shrugged, finally taking her drink before replying. “I really don't know anything about that time period in Audrey's life.”  
  
“I guess you wouldn't,” Monica agreed, nodding thoughtfully... or what Jason guessed was supposed to be thoughtfully. Really, to him, it just looked conniving. “After all, that was before she... found your grandfather.”  
  
“And well before you ever showed up in town,” Tracy piped in for good measure. If those two were suddenly going to play nice with one another and work together to harass Elizabeth....  
  
“Yep.”  
  
He had to stifle a chuckle at his wife's blunt, you've-gotta-be-kidding-me-with-this-mindless-drivel response. Or, more accurately, his amusement was stifled for him when, before he could even laugh, Elizabeth – as if sensing his forthcoming laughter – pinched his thigh underneath the table.  
  
“Tell us,” Tracy continued. “Just how exactly did you end up here in Port Charles, Elizabeth? I mean, you're from Colorado, correct.” Despite her choice of words, Tracy was certainly not asking a question. “Your father moved away for college and never returned. Word was that it was because of your mother.... And then one day, poof! You showed up out of nowhere. In fact, most of Port Charles didn't even know of your existence. Naturally, we knew of Steven – your grandfather's namesake despite that horrible woman who gave birth to him, and, at the time, your grandmother was already mentoring your marvelous sister, Sarah, but, frankly, your name was never mentioned.”  
  
Without giving Elizabeth a chance to answer the question put forth to her, Monica spoke up again. “Now, Tracy, you know that's not true. Audrey did tell us about how poor Jeffrey and Amanda were taken aback, their plans completely derailed when they learned they were going to have a third and, quite frankly, unwanted child.”   
  
Monica paused dramatically to take a breath, leveling Elizabeth with a knowing smirk. If it wouldn't have been for his wife's completely nonchalant attitude towards the attack being leveled against her, he would have stopped the discussion, which had taken over the entire table, from progressing. Hell, he would have grabbed Elizabeth's hand and left the dinner altogether if he didn't sense a thin veil of amusement emanating from the woman beside him.   
  
“Then, years later, I remember poor Audrey confiding in me about how wild and willful her youngest grandchild was, fearing that it would get her in trouble. In fact, that's why your parents sent Sarah to live with your grandmother, wasn't it, Elizabeth – so that your ways wouldn't have a chance to influence her?”  
  
“Actually, I think they shipped Sarah off so that they could pawn their parenting duties off on Audrey and skip off to Africa to save the world, one _other_ unwanted child at a time.”  
  
At this point, Alan perked up. Jason couldn't help from rolling his eyes. Of course the man would suddenly take an interest when something related to medicine was being discussed. Did he even have a hobby... well, besides the occasional prescription drug addiction and not-so-occasional stint of adultery? “Ah, yes, that's right. They went to Africa as a part of Doctors Without Borders, I believe. Since Steven was already in medical school and Sarah came here to live with Audrey, did you go to Africa with your parents, Elizabeth? What a wonderful experience for a young person and during their most formidable years, too.”  
  
Tracy laughed, the sound anything but pleasant. “Oh, Alan, you idealistic fool. Elizabeth was dumped off with the neighbors. Her parents didn't even care enough to send her to Audrey.”  
  
He went to interrupt, to correct what Tracy had just said, but Jason knew enough about Elizabeth's relationship with her family to know that, although pieced together to sound as cruel as possible, what Tracy and Monica were driving at with their barbs towards his wife was unfortunately true. He just wasn't sure what the purpose of their attack served, especially since, if anyone was going to be on trial with the Quartermaines, it should have been him. Plus, he had just opened his mouth to say something – anything – when Monica was already charging forward, picking up the threads of the tale she and her rival of a sister-in-law were spinning, their back and forth coming across as a practiced rapport.   
  
“But that didn't stop Elizabeth from coming here anyway, uninvited and trouble that her grandmother certainly did not need. Or want.”  
  
“I hardly think a little teenage angst can be considered trouble,” Chloe dismissed. “We all go through it. Let's see...” Sounding nostalgic, she giggled, “I dyed my hair a different color every week with Kool-aid and dated this guy my parents just could...”  
  
“Yeah, Chloe, that's not what Monica meant,” Tracy mocked.  
  
“No, Audrey would have been relieved if all Elizabeth had at fifteen was bad fashion sense. Instead, she smoked. Snuck out. Broke curfew. Dressed like a harlot. Oh, and let's not forget her worst offense....”  
  
“Which was what,” Elizabeth asked rhetorically. “The fact that I liked art instead of anatomy?”  
  
Tracy snickered. “I wouldn't put it that way, Lizzie. Maybe you didn't study medicine, but you certainly know your way around the male body.”  
  
Several people around the table spoke at once, but it was Jason's quiet, “excuse me,” which rang the loudest.  
  
“What, didn't your wife tell you,” Tracy chided, smirking. “She was quite the little whore when she first moved to Port Charles.”  
  
While he and Elizabeth weren't touching, he could still feel her tense beside him, alerting Jason to a decided shift in both the direction of Monica and Tracy's attack and the mood in the dining room. Why the two women were out to embarrass or hurt Elizabeth, he had no idea, but Jason also knew that there was nothing they could possibly tell him about his wife that he didn't already know, skewed with their disgusting Quartermaine interpretations or not. So, without a word, he reached over and slid his left hand into Elizabeth's right, stood up, and carefully pulled her to her feet beside him. Not offering an explanation or a goodbye, he started to walk away, Elizabeth following behind him.  
  
Unfortunately, their departure did nothing to deter Monica from picking up right where Tracy left off. “Imagine, someone who went out and started sleeping around at age fifteen, marrying into this family.”  
  
Jason froze, Elizabeth actually colliding into his back. He felt her clutch her quivering fingers into his dress shirt and bury her face into the soft fabric. Slowly, he turned around to face the room, to confront the despicable women gloating across from him, Elizabeth moving with him so that she was shielded and hidden behind his frame. He knew _exactly_ what Monica and Tracy were twisting around to suit their own cruel purposes, and, more than the fact that they were willing to throw a fifteen year old Elizabeth's rape in her face, he hated that their actions, for the first time since he had met Elizabeth, had made her larger than life personality shrink and shy away.  
  
“That's enough,” he seethed, barely restraining himself from storming over to the table and smashing everything and anything within reach. The only reason he didn't was because he didn't want to move away from Elizabeth; the only reason that he didn't bellow his contempt across the room was because he wanted to make damn sure he was the last person to ever make his wife feel more uncomfortable or scared in that moment. Or ever. “From this second on, you will never say another world about Elizabeth, because you know nothing about her.”  
  
“Au contraire, Jason,” Monica argued, reclining back in her chair smugly. “I know _everything_ about Lizzie, because Audrey was my best friend for longer than either you or your wife have been alive.”  
  
And, just like that, everything clicked. Monica and Tracy were attacking Elizabeth, because they saw her as the weak link to Jason and Elizabeth's claims. While they could do everything they could possibly think of to hurt her, thereby either pushing her away from Jason or pushing them both away from the Quartermaines, he alone was untouchable, because they knew. They _knew_ that was Alan's son, because Audrey Hardy had not been the only one to keep his parentage a secret. In their attack, though, they had made a terrific miscalculation. Before that night, he was only going along with Elizabeth's plan because it was what she wanted, but, now, he had two reasons of his own to take down the Q's: they had hurt the woman he loved, and, at least Monica, had done everything she could to deny his mother the peace of mind which would have gone along with knowing, when she died, that her son would be taken care of, would be claimed by his father, would have a home, and a family, and a future... even if as a Quartermaine.  
  
Game. On.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

**FNF #69: “When I see you smile and know that it is not for me, that is when I will miss you the most.” _~ Author Unknown_**

“So, I have been wracking my brain, trying to come up with something we can do as a double date.”  
  
Despite Elizabeth's best attempts to avoid her boss, friend, and, now, distant cousin-in-law as well, Chloe had managed to track her down. Not that she was hiding or anything. It wasn't a stretch to find her at the bar her husband owned, the same bar that she herself used to work at and, since quitting, used as her favorite after-hours hangout. But Elizabeth had believed herself safe from the fashion designer at Jake's. After all, Chloe Morgan didn't exactly scream Jake's typical clientele.   
  
Apparently, however, the blonde had no problem getting down and dirty... figuratively speaking, of course. With an untouched beer sweating a ring of moisture on the table before her and a basket of peanuts being used as the designer's fidgeting distraction of choice, Chloe looked right at home at the bar... or, well, as close to home as someone wearing $500 jeans, a silk blouse, and Jimmy Choo's could look at Jake's. You could take the girl out of the design world, but you couldn't take the designer out of the girl.  
  
“At first, I just thought 'why not dinner and a movie?' It's classic, right? Songs, books, television, they all use dinner and a movie as the base for so many of their plots, right? But then I really started thinking about what it's like to go to the movies, and I realized that it's an awful place to go on a date. You don't talk. You don't even look at each other, because you're so focused on what's happening on the screen. So, then I was curious, naturally, why so many people go to the movies on dates. Did you know that the movies is actually considered the worst possible first date itinerary? I'd never thought about it before, but it totally makes sense.”  
  
“Chloe.”  
  
“So, of course, I dismissed that idea. And, besides, I really can't see you, Jason, Jax, and I ever agreeing on the same film anyway.”  
  
With her chin in her hand, her elbow plopped down on the scarred surface of the table the two of them were sitting at, Elizabeth just watched her boss. Chloe was a talker. That was nothing new. And it was certainly not something Elizabeth could hold against the blonde, because she herself was known to speak rather quickly and often as well. But she just couldn't muster even a modicum of interest in what her friend was saying, because she knew the nervous chatter was nothing more than a smoke-screen, a shield Chloe was using to bridge conversation but make sure that she kept far away from what they both knew she really wanted to talk about. And that's exactly why Elizabeth had been avoiding her.  
  
She made sure that she went to work early, and, instead of hanging around the office, she tackled all the errands she typically procrastinated about and spread out over the entire month, hating to be stuck in traffic, or at the bank, post office, fabric wholesaler, or any of the other dozen or so places she frequented often as a part of her work duties. It was much nicer to sit at her desk and doodle between phone calls or to pop into Chloe's office for a little girl-talk/dress-up time, because, despite her protests against the attention and hassle, Elizabeth would rather serve as Chloe's personal, human clothes-hanger at the office than run around Port Charles all day long.  
  
“My next idea was putt-putt golfing. I know, I know,” Chloe exclaimed, laughing at herself and waving off Elizabeth's non-objection. “I'm not the most athletic woman out there, but I thought that might be half of the fun, you know – laughing at my horrible golf game and trying to trick the boys into missing their shots and/or allowing us to cheat. However, then I really started thinking about what putt-putt golf physically requires, and I was just too afraid that we'd end up leaving the place in an ambulance, somebody taking a club to the knee or a ball to the nose.”  
  
“Chloe.”  
  
“Museums and art galleries are always an option. The former Jax and I are big fans of. We attend events and fundraisers at museums all the time, and I know that you'd never turn down a trip to an art gallery, but neither of those things scream Jason to me, and, besides, they really don't inspire conversation and causal fun the way I want this double date to. Plus, they also made me realize how little I know about my sudden-cousin – like, what does he do for fun, where does he spend his free-time, what are some of his hobbies?”  
  
Elizabeth sighed and found herself reaching a hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. She paused when she realized that she was imitating one of Jason's favorite signs of aggravation. They were spending far too much time together if she was beginning to take on his mannerisms. So, instead of alleviating the tension she felt building into what would most assuredly become one whopper of a headache, Elizabeth simply settled for saying her friend's name yet again, a note of chastisement entering her voice. “Chloe.”  
  
“As you would imagine, my lightbulb moment led me to just one conclusion: we're simply going to have to go out to dinner. Pick someplace down-to-earth and relaxed, order several courses and several round of drinks, and just... talk. I want to know everything about Jason... or, well, you know what I mean, and I'd also love to learn more about your relationship. You guys just moved, right – you're fixing up your grandmother's house together? I think that's super sweet, Elizabeth, and really romantic, too.”  
  
Okay. Now, Chloe's avoidance was becoming downright pathetic. Lifting her face off of her fist and allowing her arm to drop down firmly onto the table, Elizabeth glared at the woman across from her. For a moment, it seemed like the bar stood still as the sound of her skin slapping against the wooden table top echoed around the room, but the few patrons who littered Jake's that weekday night quickly returned to minding their own business, far more interested in their games of pool or the drinks they were nursing to listen in on a conversation between two women who, frankly, didn't belong there... even if one of them was a regular and the owner's new wife.  
  
This time, when Elizabeth said her friend's name, she enunciated it so particularly that it came out as two distinctive syllables. “Chlo-e!”  
  
At least the designer had the good sense to blush in embarrassment, looking away as she finally pushed the basket of peanuts aside and, instead, painfully twined her fingers together. “I'm that obvious, huh?”  
  
“I knew what you really wanted to talk to me about since the moment Monica and Tracy attacked me at dinner last week.”  
  
Chloe flushed further, and Elizabeth sighed. Again. “I'm sorry.”  
  
“There's no reason to be sorry. It's just... it's awkward. It's not something I talk about very often and certainly not with a lot of people, and I highly doubt you've ever had to ask someone about their rape before.”  
  
She watched as the woman across from her flinched away from the sound of the word 'rape.' Perhaps it was that small sign of Chloe's discomfort that made the tension inside of her subside somewhat. While she never believed that her friend was being nosy or even pitying her in her desire for some clarification to their disastrous dinner conversation the Friday before, that small sign of Chloe's genuine remorse helped to make the moment a little bit less about Elizabeth's pain and a little bit more about Chloe's, the blonde obviously regretting what had been done to Elizabeth at the hand of the Quartermaine family – _her_ family.  
  
“Really, Chloe, it was a long time ago, and I've moved passed...”  
  
The next words were whispered, and they interrupted Elizabeth's reassurances. “You were fifteen?” She nodded her answer, encouraging further discussion and questioning if that's what Chloe wanted; if that's what her friend needed. “I couldn't imagine.... What happened?”  
  
Elizabeth shrugged, feeling more nonchalant about the topic than she would have predicted. She had long since gotten over any shame associated with what had happened to her, and, because of Chloe's sympathy and care, she was quickly realizing just how good of a friend her boss had the potential of becoming. “My story isn't really that much different than any one else who's gone through a rape. I was alone in a place where I thought I was safe – the park – but really wasn't. I was taken by surprise... right off the bench, and, though I tried to fight back, I wasn't strong enough. Afterwards, someone – a stranger – was wandering through the park, taking a shortcut to their apartment, their place of work, a friend's... I never really asked, and they found me. They called for help.   
  
“Of course, I didn't want anyone to see me, or to touch me, or to even know. I was ashamed. But having someone find me, having people see me, touch me, know about what happened to me was probably the best thing that could have happened. I was made to get help, and, eventually, they caught my rapist, and he went away for the maximum sentence. Even better? Because it was a stranger who found me and, in a way, a stranger who made sure that I did everything right, I was forced to... realize, I guess... that not all strangers were out there, waiting to hurt me. Getting help was the last thing I wanted in that moment when I crawled out from behind the bushes, but it was exactly what I needed. I went to counseling, and I healed.”  
  
“But what Monica and Tracy did to you...”  
  
“... was awful,” Elizabeth finished for her. “I won't lie to you and say that it didn't hurt. I mean, obviously, you saw my reaction. It hurt like hell. But not for the reasons they think or probably even hope. I was just... caught off guard, and to think that there are women out there who will use something like a rape against another woman, it made me sick to my stomach.”  
  
“Not to mention the fact that they're your husband's family, so, now, they are your family as well. While I love the Quartermaines, I can also see their flaws, and what happened at that dinner last week should never have happened, let alone between family.” Chloe leaned back, tilting her head to the side. “The only thing I can think of – and, trust me, this is by no-means an excuse for either of my cousins' behavior – is that Monica and Tracy are scared of you, of you and Jason.”  
  
“Yeah, well, they have no one to blame but each other on that one as well,” Elizabeth mumbled under her breath, avoiding her boss' gaze. Instead, she found and watched Jason, thinking back to what he had told her after their botched dinner with the quacky Q's. He now believed that at least Monica had been perfectly aware of his parentage from the beginning and that she had done everything within her power to make sure that he never learned the truth. As she observed him moving behind the bar – he was working on the inventory between customers, she had to do everything within her power from telling Chloe _exactly_ what she thought of Jason's newfound family and how they were soon going to pay out the freaking nose for what they had done to him.  
  
Just as she was about to tune back in to what her friend was saying, however, Elizabeth noticed something that made her teeth grind together and her back become rigid with irritation. Some _blonde –_ and bleached no less – had just sauntered up to the bar and was practically offering herself on a silver platter to Jason. She was dressed far to scantily for the still crisp late-spring nights, and she was obviously not taking Jason's polite yet obviously disinterested professional attitude as the warning she should have.  
  
Without thought, Elizabeth found herself pushing her chair away from the table and standing up, her body moving automatically towards the bar before she could second guess herself. In the brief moments it took her to make her away across the scuffed, wooden floor, she realized that she knew absolutely nothing about Jason's former dating life. While she would always confide in him about her failed relationships and disastrous dates, he never once had mentioned a single former girlfriend, bed-bunny, or one night stand. And, while she wasn't in love with her husband, she wasn't blind either. There _had_ to be plenty of former girlfriends, bed-bunnies, and one night stands in Jason's past.  
  
Somewhere behind her, Chloe's profuse apologies on behalf of Port Charles' own royally screwed up family had sputtered to a stop, and, though she could feel her friend's gaze intently drilling into her back, Elizabeth never once lost track of her intentions or deviated from the path she had instinctively taken. Using the rungs of the stool beside the tramp currently attempting to come onto _her_ husband, Elizabeth pushed her way up and over the bar, ignoring the bimbo as she laid her hand – her _left_ hand – on top of Jason's suddenly still left hand as well. She felt his fingers stiffen into rigidity for a brief second underneath her touch before quickly relaxing and... warming noticeably.  
  
“Close the bar early,” she implored him, never once even acknowledging the slut beside her. “Let's get out of here.”  
  
While Elizabeth made sure that her words were draped with innuendo so that even the hoochee-ho's peroxide-drenched brain could fathom the promise and meaning behind her otherwise innocent words, Elizabeth herself had no idea what she had done, what it meant, or what it was going to lead to. And that was before Jason smiled.  
  
Yep, she was in trouble. Big trouble. Huge.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

**FNF #** **71.** ****"Sometimes the clearest mirrors come from those who are outside looking in."** ** **_**\- Jennifer Neal** _ **

With his legs crossed at the ankles, his arms folded over his chest, and his back leaning against the stone wall of the old bridge, Jason knew that he looked relaxed. Calm. Unaffected and perhaps even slightly bored. But, inside, he was anything but. While he wasn't sure what had just happened back at Jake's between he and Elizabeth... and while he wasn't sure if even Elizabeth knew either despite being the one to initiate the change... whatever it may be, there had been a definite shift in their relationship. Now, he just had to figure out what exactly the change meant.  
  
And that's why he brought her to the bridge instead of taking them home like she had asked... or, more accurately, had told him to do. Despite the fact that they were living together in the house she had partially inherited from her grandmother, they lived there as roommates – business partners. They slept in separate rooms, and it almost seemed like the specter of Audrey Hardy hung over them there, watching and disapproving. Jason felt ill at ease in the house, and he knew that, of all the places he could take Elizabeth that night, her grandmother's house was the worst possible option. If they were skittish around each other at Jake's, then they were downright awkward with each other at Audrey's. And it didn't matter that his name and Elizabeth's were now on the deed to the house. For as long as they were married because of their plan, the home would remain Audrey Hardy's.   
  
So, instead of driving them back to one of the biggest reminders of why they were pretending to be a couple, Jason took Elizabeth to a place she'd never been, to a place he'd certainly never taken another person, a place free of pressure and expectations where they could just... be. Plus, the peace of the bridge served as a steadying presence for him as well. During their trip across town – Elizabeth clutching him tightly as he weaved his motorcycle through the hills and curves that dotted Port Charles' back roads, Jason had been tense with anticipation for whatever was about to happen between them (because, whatever it may be – good or bad, there was a sense of inevitableness in the air) and with appreciation for the way _his wife_ was wrapped so tightly around him. He had even felt his hands tremble slightly when he helped Elizabeth off of his bike, the cool skin of her fingers against his making his blood heat even more.  
  
If he was distracted with nerves and anticipation, then Elizabeth was downright on edge. Since the moment she stepped off his bike, she had been pacing. Biting her lip, twisting her fingers together, and mumbling low underneath her breath, she had yet to fully take in their surroundings. When she eventually did, Jason had no doubt that she would appreciate the out of the way location just as much as he did. And perhaps that was the other reason why he had felt it safe to bring her to the bridge. Although he wasn't one for words and really couldn't say why the bridge was so important to him, Jason knew it was special. Never before had he felt close enough to someone to share such a personal place with... at least, not until Elizabeth.  
  
He had wanted to take her for a ride on his bike and eventually end up at the old estate for years, but never had the time seemed right. There had been afternoons when she'd come into work upset, and he just knew that one look at the old, overgrown gardens which sheltered and hid away several crumbling statues would chase any of her cares away. Then, there had been nights when Elizabeth had been so wired with the need to paint that he had wanted to show her the place he found beautiful and inspiring. And then there had just been moments when he'd make her laugh or that she would smile at him, and he found himself needing to share something as equally as special with her. Yet, he had always restrained those instincts, somehow just knowing that, for whatever reason, Elizabeth wasn't ready for him to take her to the bridge. That night, though, everything had changed.  
  
Maybe it was a combination of being on his own and having to take care of himself for so many years and owning a bar, but, whatever the reason, Jason was good at reading people. And Elizabeth was awful at hiding her emotions, especially from him. He could read her like an open book – always had and he hoped always would. He had been watching her all evening – as she sat in quiet contemplation before Chloe arrived, as she barely managed to restrain her frustration with her friend, and as she, despite her bravado and feigned ease, struggled to share the details of her rape with someone else. While over the course of their friendship, Elizabeth had slowly told him pieces of her past... including her rape and how it had molded her into the woman she was, but he had known and been friends with Elizabeth for much longer than Chloe. Plus, there was a deeper level of trust between Jason and Elizabeth than either of them shared with anyone else, something that, for some reason, they had possessed right from the very beginning of their relationship. And he had also watched a very welcome change come across her features as she looked up from the table and saw him talking to another woman.  
  
Elizabeth _Moore_ had been jealous.  
  
At the reminder of what he had seen, Jason refocused his attention upon his wife as she continued to avoid him with her agitated pacing, and he found himself wondering about her reaction. It was atypical and went against everything he knew of his friend. He had known her while in several relationships, and she had never once displayed any territorial behaviors in the past. In fact, if anything, Elizabeth might have been too trusting with her ex-boyfriends, something that more than one had taken advantage of. And she certainly wasn't one of those girls who claimed men and women couldn't be friends. After all, they had been friends for years, and, while, sure, his feelings for her had always been a little more than her feelings for him, that hadn't stopped them from being close platonically. Because of this, he had to wonder if Elizabeth's reaction was actually a symptom of something much bigger, if her issue really wasn't with the stranger who had been flirting with him but that the woman had served as an easy scapegoat for whatever was really bothering his wife.  
  
Jason was deep in these thoughts, trying to work his way through the murkiness that was his understanding of a woman's way of thinking when, if he hadn't of been leaning up against the bridge, Elizabeth's sudden question might have made him trip over his own feet or falter backwards several steps. “How many women have you slept with?”  
  
He didn't need a mirror to know that his eyes bulged and his mouth dropped open in shock. “What?”  
  
“No, nevermind. Don't answer that. I don't want to know. Ew.”  
  
“Elizabeth?”  
  
“Geesh, Moore. Drop it already. It was a stupid question. I don't know why I asked it.”  
  
“Okay...?” He had no idea what else to say.  
  
“But, no, really,” Elizabeth pressed, turning around to face him, her arms lifting in a loose shrug and then falling helplessly back to her sides only to slap softly against her legs. It was otherwise so quiet, so still, on the bridge that the slight sound seemed louder than it was as it echoed between them. “You've... been with women before.”   
  
If he didn't know better, Jason would almost say that the words tasted bad to Elizabeth the way she spit them out.   
  
“What I mean is that, while you know everything about me and my personal life – how many guys I've dated, why I broke up with all my ex-boyfriends, how many men I've slept with....”  
  
He couldn't help it. He winced at her last statement, the words a painful reminder of the few times she'd been serious enough about a guy to have sex with them. For some reason, Elizabeth had always been compelled to talk to him about those oftentimes disastrous decisions, Jason serving as a sounding board to an oblivious Elizabeth who never realized that, each and every time she was intimate with someone else, it burned Jason just that much more. Yet, he had no one to blame but himself, because he had never once asked her not to confide in him, and he'd never once taken the chance of telling her how he really felt.   
  
Needing to add some levity to the moment... for his sake as much as hers, Jason teased, “yeah, well, I never asked for those play-by-plays. You just always felt the need to brag.”  
  
“Ugh, more like bemoaned,” she complained, finally coming up to stand beside him, the two of them moving to lean their elbows against the bridge's railing in tandem. Together, they glanced into the murky darkness of the gorge below. “No, but seriously, have you... well... I mean...?”  
  
Because of how much she was struggling with what she truly wanted to ask him, Jason knew that, whatever Elizabeth was about to say, it was going to be big.  
  
She mauled her bottom lip for several seconds before releasing it from its torture, sighing, and then whispering, “have you ever been in love before?”  
  
While Jason welcomed the shift in their relationship, and while he wanted to be open and honest with his wife, he wasn't quite ready to be _that_ open and honest with her. At least, not yet, not when he wasn't sure what had inspired that evening's strange set of events. So, instead of really answering her, he took the easy road and denied, “don't know. You?”  
  
He expected Elizabeth to pester him, to demand more, but, instead, just like she often did, she surprised him by teasing, “that's for me to know and for you to... not.” To emphasize the lighter moment, she knocked her hip against his and giggled, and Jason was amazed with how easily they could slip back into their tried and true comfort zone with each other. While he wasn't ready to tell her how he felt, he definitely didn't want them regressing backwards to where they had been before that evening started. So, surprising the both of them, Jason reached out, and, gently cupping Elizabeth's elbow, he turned her around to face him.  
  
For what seemed like an endless moment, he simply looked at her, Elizabeth eventually squirming underneath his intense and unwavering gaze. But he wouldn't let her escape that easily, so he lifted one suddenly clammy with nerves and anticipation hand and tipped her chin up so that her eyes were forced to meet his. Once she was looking at him again, he didn't let go. Instead, he used his tender touch to hold her still, leaning forward slow enough to see her eyes widen with surprise and, if he wasn't mistaken, interest. He also noted that, despite her shock, she didn't once shy or pull away from what they both knew was about to happen.  
  
And then he kissed her. It was soft and sweet, and even though every single fiber of Jason's being was screaming at him to nip at her lips and take her mouth as if it were his own, he held back. Rather, he simply whispered their lips together several times, the touch of their skin so light he almost would have doubted they had even kissed at all if he hadn't felt Elizabeth gasp against his mouth right before he pulled away.  
  
She was visibly shaking, her hand lifting to rub against her lips in memory of what his own had just done to her. With a touch of pride, he saw the delicate digits tremble. “Why... why did you do that,” she asked of him breathlessly.  
  
He smirked. “That's for me to know and for you to... not.” Then, without saying another word, Jason turned around and started walking back towards his bike.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

**FNF #75: "The waves of pain that had only lapped at me before now reared high up and washed over my head, pulling me under. I did not resurface."** _**~ Bella, New Moon** _

If someone didn't throw a drowning girl a life raft soon... and make it in the shape of a giant cork to stuff in the yammering wine enthusiast's flapping jowls (and, yes, she really meant jowls), then Elizabeth was going to go floating down the yellow river right there in the Quartermaine rose garden. Then again, talk about making an impression at her very first official society event as a member of the revered/reviled Q clan – Pickle-Lila's very own guest of honor to boot. Just the thought of Amanda Barrington's face as her expensive, old lady cream (for it wasn't quite Memorial Day yet) pumps turned a darker, wetter hue was enough to make Elizabeth chortle... which then, of course, she had to cover up with a ridiculously obvious cough, capped off with _yet another_ sip of tea, because that's what ladies did, especially ladies who lunch.   
  
Lunch. That word almost made Elizabeth snort in derision. If it wasn't for the threat that she'd have to mask her disdain with even more lukewarm Earl Gray, she probably wouldn't have been able to restrain herself. As it was, she still had to roll her eyes. If this – crustless bread with rabbit food stuffed between two slices and cookies the size of her nail-beds constituted lunch, then it was no wonder Tranica (her new nickname for the demonic duo, Tracy and Monica) were bitches. Elizabeth would attempt to roast her dinner guests, too, if that was her only hope of getting some meat with her meal.   
  
Instead of sitting for more than an hour listening to some woman who was just slightly less full of herself and overblown than the guests she was _entertaining_ , Elizabeth believed her time would have been better spent with someone explaining to her just what exactly the richy-rich had against cheeseburgers and brownies. When Lila had called her earlier in the week to _personally_ invite her to the Port Charles' Ladies' Garden Club's Annual Kick-off to Summer Tea, she explicitly remembered the old bird mentioning luncheon. And Chloe, ever the Q's pusher, had just ranted and raved about Cook's tea menus, so Elizabeth had come to the Quartermaine Mausoleum hungry and ready to eat. Unfortunately, the fake food at an imaginary tea party probably would have been more filling than what the princely and portly of Port Chuckles deemed appropriate fodder, so she had attempted – and failed – to fill her rumbling stomach with tea, drinking cup after cup of the bitter, dirty water, not realizing that, when Lila Quartermaine threw a tea, she also made it a crash course in finishing school as well.  
  
Before the wine enthusiast, there had been a concert harpist. Before the concert harpist, someone had to read to them. In French. And before the frog poetry, there had been a demonstration on needlepoint. There had been more than one moment when Elizabeth had felt the urge to pull off one of the harp's strings and use it as a guillotine, and Gail Baldwin didn't even want to know what Elizabeth could do with a few needles. Let's just say that thread would not be her medium of choice. It had been the longest afternoon of her life, and the worst part was that, from where she was sitting (okay, squirming and wiggling, because, frankly, it was the only way she was keeping Battle-Ax Barrington's shoes clean and dry), there appeared no end in sight.  
  
And here she thought Lila was the nice Q in an otherwise rotten bunch. Ha! Apparently, the family matriarch was just a more sly expert at torture.   
  
Really, though, she was kind of surprised that the Q's were hosting such an event, what with all the scandal scuttling about town over Jason's paternity and all the other pretenders to the throne trying to cash in. The Q's had been besieged in all the local papers, made the pariahs of Port Charles by the more serious journalists and the laughing stocks by the tabloids... which was probably why Amy Vining was nowhere to be seen that afternoon – a pity, in Elizabeth's opinion, because she'd be the perfect weapon to start dishing out some payback to her new Step-Monster-in-Law.  
  
As she scanned the garden for another means of vengeance, Elizabeth had to marvel at just how... docile and amused the rest of the party (and she used that term ironically) appeared. She'd simply wave off their cow-like expressions as being narcoleptic or, even more likely, bored to death, but people were nodding (and not off). People were smiling (and not in a 'kill-me-now-and-put-me-out-of-my-misery-please' way). And people were clapping (and not like seals because they had finally gone off the deep end – oh, water reference... so not a good idea). In fact, she couldn't see anyone else with waves of chamomile rocking the once whites of their eyes like Elizabeth had no doubt she was sporting.  
  
Wait.  
  
Back that train up.  
  
Did she hear...? Yep. Glancing around, Elizabeth confirmed that her ears had not been playing tricks on her. The wino was waddling away to the sounds of clapping – no, not just clapping but a _standing_ ovation, and standing meant she'd be one step closer to getting to use the bathroom. So, making like 'quite the little joiner,' Elizabeth stood up, too, slowly backing up as she halfheartedly tried to look as enthusiastic in her auditioning for SeaWorld as the diamond crusted, beached whales surrounding her.   
  
She was just to the patio, her wedge sandals bumping into the slight lip of the brick pavers and nearly knocking Elizabeth back on her sundress covered behind when Chloe popped up beside her. “There you are. Sorry that we weren't sitting together, but Lila insists on at least one family member at every table. I tried to convince her that it wasn't fair to throw you to the lions on your first garden club outing, but she said that you could handle it. And she was right.”  
  
Normally, Elizabeth enjoyed catching up with her friend and boss, but, in that moment, Chloe represented the only thing standing between Elizabeth and... well, her own version of the Boston Tea Party. So, she just couldn't muster much of a response for the blonde and, instead, simply offered a smile. A very tight, I'm-About-to-Burst smile.  
  
Chloe didn't seem to mind, and she certainly wasn't deterred. “So, what's Jason up to this afternoon? His first Saturday alone since getting married, huh? If it wasn't so hot out, I'd guess he was working on his bike.”  
  
She shrugged. “He's at Jake's.”  
  
While she managed to answer the question, Elizabeth couldn't remain focused on whatever it was Chloe said in response. Just what she needed – a reminder of how stinking sticky it was outside. The weather around Port Charles was famous for how quickly it could shift, and summer had certainly burst upon them with the annual Memorial Day fireworks show, but it was more than that for Elizabeth. She felt like she was boiling from the inside out. If she wouldn't have double checked her license for her age, she would have guessed that she'd fallen asleep a week ago, skipped a few years, and woke up in menopause. Mood swings, hot flashes, she had it all, and it was all her damn husband's fault, too. Ever since he had the gall to kiss her, she'd been running hotter than than a Quartermaine's cooked-up tax report. And the worst thing was that....  
  
“... and I know that we haven't made the best impression upon you as a family, but, if nothing else, this is proof that the Quartermaines aren't all-bad, all the time.”  
  
“Wait? What,” Elizabeth questioned, shaking her own thoughts away as she refocused upon her friend. “How?”  
  
“Edward insisted that Lila throw this party. Despite everything that's happened and everything that has been said, he knew just how much this Tea means to her, and, while Edward has his faults, he dearly loves his wife, and he will do anything to make her happy.”  
  
With this promoting, Elizabeth took a gander around the various people chatting throughout Lila's garden and tried to imagine what they saw that afternoon, looking at the Q's. While Chloe might be wearing glasses tinted the same color as Lila's favorite blooms, Elizabeth sure as hell wasn't, and she knew exactly why Eddie Q told his wife to have her party and cry if she wanted to: he was using it as positive press for the family. That's the real reason why she was there – so that all the grand damn dames of Port Charles would see her, the long-lost prodigal Quartermaine's wife, making nice with the other female Q's. Despite what Tranica said about her and how they made her feel, Edward knew that, when push came to shove, she was a Hardy. In public, no matter what, she'd act like a Hardy. She'd dress like a Hardy. And she'd be known as a Hardy. Bottom line? She'd also be good enough to be accepted as a Quartermaine, helping to put to rest some of the uglier rumors swirling about town.   
  
However, what the wily old coot failed to realize was that two could very easily play his little game. In fact, by trying to use her to his best advantage, Edward had also provided Elizabeth with the perfect opportunity to do some of her own... public relations spinning. Not only had she been added last minute to the garden club's guest list, but so, too, had several prominent newspaper editors and society columnists, including one gossip-hungry, shoe-happy, younger man-horny Diane Miller.  
  
Interrupting Chloe mid-sentence, Elizabeth smiled graciously, her earlier quest to use the bathroom forgotten in the rush of a new plan coming to fruition. “If you'll excuse me, there's someone that I just have to say hello to.”  
  
With that, Elizabeth fairly skipped off. Tea parties were _awesome_.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

**FNF #77:** **"A crowded room and friends with tired eyes; I'm hiding from you and your soul of eyes; My God, I thought you were someone to rely on; Me, I guess I was a shoulder to cry on; A face on a lover with a fire in his heart; A girl on a cover but you tore her apart; Maybe this year; Maybe this year I'll give it to someone special" ~** _**Taylor Swift.** _

Twelve days.  
  
It had been twelve days since he had kissed Elizabeth, since he had put himself and his feelings out there, and she had yet to say one, single word to him in reaction to his less than fully thought out gesture.  
  
Okay, so maybe a kiss wasn't exactly a declaration of love, Jason could admit that, but it sure as hell was more than what Elizabeth had given him so far in their marriage. And, yes, they were married because of a plan, because of something that amounted to no more than a marriage of convenience. But how could Elizabeth not know how he felt? He had never liked any of her past boyfriends, he'd been single – not celibate but single – since he had met her, and she had to know him well enough by now to realize that sticking it the Quartermaines and securing a steady stream of funding for the orphanage he grew up in were not reasons enough for Jason to get married.  
  
But, yet, she acted completely oblivious. He could forgive and forget her ignorance up until the kiss they'd shared at the bridge, but he couldn't make excuses for the past twelve days. While she'd talk to him about everything but their night together on the back of his bike and at the old estate – _their_ plan, things she wanted to do to the house, dinner, Jake's, the infernal tea party Lila had invited her to, even going on more rides with him, never had the word 'kiss' been uttered by her lips... not even mumbled under her breath while she talked to herself. And Jason would know, because he certainly spent enough of his time watching his wife's lips.  
  
Usually the thought of one of his favorite parts of Elizabeth would have been enough to at least rank a smirk, but thinking about her mouth and how it had not been used to discuss their relationship like he wanted it to be only made him frown that much more. Bending over the pool table he had commandeered for himself that evening, glaring away anyone who even dreamed of approaching him for a game, Jason lined up his next shot. Despite using more force than was necessary, he sunk yet another ball, the sharp cracking noise doing nothing to alleviate any of his pent-up tension.  
  
He had come into work that afternoon with the intention of manning the bar himself, but Jake's was busy, he was surly, and the combination a lousy one for business. So, he had called in one of his spare, substitute bartenders and slunk off to play a few rounds of pool. A glutton for punishment, he was waiting... perhaps not patiently but at least he was waiting... for Elizabeth to get back from her insipid tea party, the infernal woman somehow having wrangled a promise out of him o go for a ride on his bike that evening. Only... Elizabeth was late, and he was still there, waiting but now feeling even more emasculated.   
  
Since when did Jason Moore wait around for a woman? Since when did he start bending over backwards and completely turning his life upside down for a woman? Since when did he become _that guy_ who obsessed over a kiss? A freaking kiss?! Whenever the change happened, he didn't appreciate it, that was for damn sure, and, if he had even half of his sense remaining, he'd pack it in and call it quits that very night – simply walk away, forget the stupid plan, and divorce Elizabeth. Get out while he still could.  
  
Snorting, he dismissed his own grandstanding before taking another shot. Though he noticed peripherally that he missed, he really wasn't paying any particular attention to the game, using it, instead, as a means to stay physically as busy as his mind currently was.   
  
Even if he were to leave Elizabeth, she'd still be there. Inside of him. Elizabeth had been such an integral part of his life for so long that signing a simple piece of paper wouldn't cut Jason free of her. Rather, it would just piss her off and make her even more impossible to deal with. If he couldn't get her to entertain the idea of them as a couple when they were already married and living together, forget about it if they were to get an annulment and he were to move out. No, what he needed to do was somehow get closer to her, somehow find a way to make her see what he had known for years: just how good the two of them could be together if they'd just give themselves a chance.  
  
It'd be one thing if Elizabeth didn't see him that way, if she wasn't attracted to him, or if she didn't believe they could work out romantically, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was that she just... didn't think about it one way or another. It was like the very idea of being with him had never once crossed her mind. He was her friend – end of story, case closed... never mind the fact that she had been friends with several of the guys she'd dated in the past. Hell, she was even friends _now_ with some of her exes _despite_ some rather nasty breakups.   
  
The woman was enough to drive him batty on a good day, forget the fact that he was already beyond frustrated with her, that he was pissed at himself for not yet buying a pool table for the house so that he could be playing (and brooding) in private that evening, and that the infernal jukebox and the noise from the crowded bar was giving him a migraine. Oh, yeah. And Elizabeth was late, too. _Two_ hours late. How in the hell could a freaking tea party of all things last so late, and, even more unbelievable, how in the world had Elizabeth managed to spend so much time with the Port Charles Garden Club and not end up in jail?  
  
“You know, it's probably not advisable for the owner of a bar to go around with bitter beer face.” Glancing up from the shot he had been eyeballing, Jason glared at the woman interrupting him. “See, now that's better. That look says 'shut up or I'll break your kneecaps. I'm sure that look comes in handy quite often, especially since you don't employ a bouncer.” The loud stranger looked around the room, her mouth pinching downwards at the corners in disapproving disdain. “And just why exactly _don't_ you employ a bouncer?”  
  
Getting fed up, Jason stood, tossing his cue roughly onto the table before crossing his arms over his chest. “What. Do. You. Want?”  
  
“A six figure expense account and an unlimited supply of designer shoes, but we can't get everything we want now, can we, Mr. Moore?” The brash woman held out a hand to him, introducing himself. “Diane Miller.”  
  
He didn't move; he didn't even blink.  
  
“Yes, well, I had a feeling I'd be met with a less than enthusiastic reception, but I at least thought my name would spark some kind of reaction.”  
  
“Why?”   
  
Her name meant nothing to him, and she certainly wasn't one of his regulars, the only people he needed to make sure that he remembered. Instead, the woman looked like she'd never stepped within a five block radius of Port Charles' docks. She was obviously wealthy and purposefully arrogant, a combination of characteristics Jake's usually never saw... or, at least, they hadn't until his Quartermaine status had come out of the woodwork.  
  
“Because, until you, my reputation has always preceded me.”  
  
He decided to get to the point. “Do you want something to drink?”  
  
“Cristal would be lovely.”  
  
“We have beer mugs and shot glasses,” Jason countered.  
  
This Diane Miller woman laughed, tossing back her head and drawing several curiously annoyed glances from around the packed bar. “Oh, honey, I meant the champagne.”  
  
“I knew exactly what you meant. I wanted to make sure that you understood where you're at right now.”  
  
She chuckled again, but this time the amusement was less abrasive and, consequently, more genuine. “You really are a literal one, aren't you?”  
  
“And you talk a lot,” Jason countered.  
  
A cheeky smile flashed across her face. “Something tells me you like that in a woman.”  
  
Jason sighed. Although he relaxed his stance, his shoulders tensed with aggravation. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he stated, “you spoke with Elizabeth.”  
  
“Your lovely wife – so warm, so adorable, such good taste in shoes – and I had such an interesting conversation today at Lila Quartermaine's otherwise ridiculous tea party that I just had to see for myself who Jason Moore was.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“And, all I can say is, lucky bitch.” With that, Diane Miller twirled around and made to leave, waving airily while tossing one last remark over her shoulder. “Make that _ride_ tonight a good one. Your loving wife deserves every thrill you could possibly dish out. And I have no doubt of your... serving abilities... and neither do you, right, Elizabeth darling?”  
  
Pivoting quickly, Jason was shocked to find his _loving wife_ standing behind him, blushing profusely. Without giving her a chance to speak, he demanded to know, “what did you do?”  
  
Despite her apparent mortification, that didn't stop Elizabeth from answering back with a smart-ass comment. “Geez, what's a girl have to do around here to get a 'hello, how are you?'”  
  
In that moment, all his frustration just... exploded. There she was, after apparently talking to some stranger about him for hours, embarrassed over the very idea of being intimate with him and joking around, refusing, yet again, to take their relationship serious, to discuss what they had shared twelve nights before. Hell, she wouldn't even look at him, let alone meet his gaze. Despite his resolve to make the next move Elizabeth's – after all, Jason felt like the ball was now in her court, he found himself curtly responding, “but you're not just some _girl_ , you're my _wife._ ” His whole life, he had been a very private person, but, suddenly, it didn't matter that they were standing in the middle of an extremely busy bar.  
  
He watched as Elizabeth swallowed roughly, as she nervously licked her lips, as she fidgeted – her eyes widening, her blush deepening and spreading downwards towards the low neckline of her sundress, and her nipples....  
  
As her plump lips opened to talk, his gaze ricocheted back up to lock upon her own unflinching baby blues. “I know.”  
  
And just like that, Jason knew, too.   
  
Elizabeth wasn't nervous or anxious; she was attracted. To him. And, best of all, she knew it, too.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

**FNF #79: “It's better this way, I say; Having seen this place before; Where everything we say and do; Hurts us all the more; It's just that we stayed too long; In the same old sickly skin; I'm pulled down by the undertow; I never thought I could feel so low; And oh darkness I feel like letting go; If all of the strength and all of the courage; Come and lift me from this place; I know I could love you much better than this; Full of grace; I know I can love you much better than this; It's better this way.”** _**~ “Full of Grace” by Sarah McLachlan** _

“So, where does this go?”  
  
“Uh... to the other side.”  
  
“Not the bridge,” Elizabeth laughed, playfully attempting – and failing – to shove him away. They were standing side by side, looking down into the gorge below. “The water. It's a creek, right?”  
  
“Actually, it doesn't sound like much all the way up here, but it's actually a small river, one of the many that eventually lead into the harbor. It's not too wide, but it's pretty deep. It works its way all around the property, too, so there are a lot of twists and turns which means, after a heavy rain, it even gets a few rapids.”  
  
“You've walked the whole thing?”  
  
“Most of it,” Jason commented, nodding despite the fact that she couldn't see the movement. By the time they left Jake's and went back to the house so Elizabeth could change, night had fallen, the moon only a thin sliver.  
  
They both fell silent for several minutes, simply listening to the water below. Well, he assumed that's what Elizabeth was doing, but he was too intent upon watching her. Despite their moment of seemingly breaking through everything that was still unsaid between them, Elizabeth had been quiet since they left the bar. Other than a few squeals on the back of his bike, she hadn't made a sound since asking about the river. While he wasn't going to rush her, he also wasn't going to let the evening go by without the two of them talking either.  
  
“So, about Diane...”  
  
“Elizabeth.” Jason didn't sigh, but he also didn't do anything to hide his exasperation.   
  
“No, wait, just hear me out,” she asked of him, pushing away from the bridge's stone wall and holding her hands out in a placating manner. “I swear, I'm not avoiding us.” He tripped his head, raised a brow in argument. “Okay, so I've totally been avoiding us for the past two weeks, but I'm not tonight. I swear. I just....” She paused, groaning in aggravation and quickly walked away, pacing the length of the bridge as she distractedly ran her hands through her hair. After a moment, she turned to face him, biting her lip. “Can we just... can we get through all the Quartermaine stuff first? I'd rather save... us... for last.”  
  
While it wasn't said out loud, he could hear _the best_ implied in her statement. That was why he gave his consent. “Okay. Fine. “Diane Miller?”  
  
Instead of answering him, though, Elizabeth went in the complete opposite direction. Again. “Do you know that I haven't painted since we started this entire mess of a plan? Not even once.” The question was rhetorical, so Jason remained silent as she, once more, came to stand beside him. “This whole thing has just been... so not what I thought it'd be like.”  
  
“How do you mean? Did you think it would be easier?”  
  
“No, not easier,” she countered, frowning in thought. “I guess I thought it would be lighter.”  
  
“Lighter?”  
  
Once more, she pushed away from the wall of the bridge, turning to slowly walk backwards further into the estate. “Will you show me?”  
  
Despite not knowing what she was asking of him, Jason followed after her. “Show you what?”  
  
“The river.”  
  
“Elizabeth, it's dark.”  
  
She shrugged. “You've been here before plenty of times. You know the property.”  
  
“Yeah, but you don't,” he pointed out.  
  
Again, she argued. “So, you do.”  
  
“It's overgrown.”  
  
“So are you.” Elizabeth laughed then at his scowl, explaining, “I meant that you can go first and trample everything down for little ol' me.”  
  
At this point, they were off the bridge, she was still moving backwards, and, with every step, he just knew that she was about to trip and twist her ankle. “There are briars, maybe poison ivy, too. It's night, so animals will be out, and, while I don't think there'd be anything life threatening, I'm not riding back to Port Charles with you smelling like a skunk. And you'll get eaten alive. The closer we get to the river, the more mosquitos there will be.”  
  
He could have continued to list reasons all night why they shouldn't go traipsing off, but, before he could, Elizabeth stopped abruptly. He barely managed to avoid running into her. As it was, when she looked up to meet his gaze, their bodies were just a breath away from touching. He could feel the heat coming off of her skin, and his fingers burned with the want of touching her.   
  
“Jason, I trust you.”  
  
Maybe he had an entire litany of good, sound excuses to avoid a trip to the river, but Elizabeth's one argument – that she _trusted him_ – was all it took to silence every last ounce of his common sense. Swallowing thickly, he nodded, and Elizabeth turned around, so that the two of them could walk side by side. As they moved deeper into the abandoned property, they both fell silent, simply enjoying the peace of the moment and each other's company. Despite everything that needed to be said between them – both about their plan and about their relationship, the silence was comfortable.   
  
Eventually, though, Elizabeth had enough of the stillness, returning to their previous discussion... or, rather, the discussion prior to their previous one, but, with the way _his wife_ changed topics faster than he drove his motorcycle, Jason couldn't be faulted for needing a second or two to organize his thoughts.  
  
“So, what about you?”  
  
“What about me?”  
  
Elizabeth huffed beside him, but it was in a good-natured way. “How do you think the plan has been going so far?”  
  
“Really, I haven't done much,” he accurately pointed out. “Besides dodging calls from Edward and Alan and going to that dinner, it's been mostly you.”  
  
“Yeah,” Elizabeth grumbled. “Don't remind me.”  
  
He almost also reminded her that this – their entire plan – was her idea, too, but that just seemed like it would be salt in the wound at that point. Instead, he asked, “you said you thought the whole thing would be lighter? I know you're not talking about the amount of lamps at the Q mansion, so...?”  
  
This time, when Elizabeth laughed, the sound lacked any hint of humor and, instead, it was filled with self-recrimination. “Can you actually believe that I thought this whole thing would be fun? We'd pull this huge scam on Port Charles' first family, and they'd never see it – or us – coming. I mean, sure, it's the Quartermaines, so I knew there'd be some ruffled feathers, but I honestly thought it'd be more food fights and fisticuffs than... well, painful.”  
  
He knew exactly what had hurt her, so he steered away from that topic. There was no need to bring up either Elizabeth's rape or how the Quartermaines had tossed it in her face... at least, not in that moment. “Food fights and fisticuffs?”  
  
“Yeah, the Q's are famous for their food fights. Did you know that there was a story printed in the newspaper a few years back which detailed this long running tradition, if you will, of ruined Quartermaine family Thanksgivings, almost all of them ending in a food fight?”  
  
“No, I didn't know that. And since when do you read the paper?”  
  
Elizabeth giggled. “Okay, so maybe Diane told me that today, but, still, it totally fits, right – the Q's lobbing mashed potatoes at each other, dumping steaming gravy into each other's laps.” Jason snorted in agreement. “As for the fisticuffs, I kind of thought you and AJ would have gotten into a fistfight or two by now, and, frankly, I was looking forward to it.”  
  
“Ah, gee thanks.”  
  
Again, she laughed, playfully pushing him away from her. “Not like that.” However, as she continued talking, she didn't remove her hand from his arm, simply running her fingers underneath and tucking her own arm into the crook of his. Eventually, her hand landed on his forearm, curling around the muscles there. “I've been waiting for you to knock that idiot on his ass.”  
  
“Well, don't be too disappointed, because I'm sure it'll happen sooner or later.”  
  
“Make it sooner,” she beseeched him. “And often.”  
  
Jason chuckled. “I'll see what I can do.”  
  
“Anyway, bottom line, my original plan kind of sucked. I don't know what I was thinking – that we'd spill the beans about your _royal_ lineage, the Q's would fawn over you, and then they'd quickly turn over the keys to the kingdom, because, duh, who wouldn't want you as their heir over AJ.”  
  
Teasing her, he said, “so, I'm the lesser of two evils, huh?”  
  
“You know what I mean.” And, to emphasize her remark, Elizabeth pinched his arm. Hard.  
  
“Hey!”  
  
She ignored him. “So, then I had to go to this awful, ridiculous, insipid, brainless, waste-of-a-perfectly-good-Saturday, I'd-rather-drive-nails-into-my-eyes...”  
  
“I get the point.”  
  
“... tea party, but it got me thinking.”  
  
He snorted. “Do I even want to know?”  
  
“Do you know that Edward orchestrated the whole thing in order to give the Q's some good press?” Before he could respond by saying that he wasn't in the least bit surprised by the wily old man, Elizabeth was plunging forward with her explanation. “I mean, sure, Lila usually hosts a tea every year, but she wanted to cancel given everything that's going on, but Edward wouldn't let her. Instead, he manipulated the situation – and me – so that everyone... including Diane Miller and several other key journalists in town... saw what he wanted them to see: that there's nothing rotten in the state of Quartermaines, that we're all just one, now bigger, slightly scandalous family – no hard feelings, no inner fighting, and certainly nothing to suggest that he and his have fallen off their all-mighty pedestal that rises above everyone else in Port Charles. Well, let me tell you, what's good for that overstuffed goose is good for this gander.”  
  
“Elizabeth, a gander is a male goose.”  
  
“Whatever,” she dismissed, waving him off with her left hand, the one that wasn't holding on to him. They were almost to the river. “You understand what I'm getting at.”  
  
“You want to manipulate Edward, too?”  
  
“Not just Edward; the press. And I started today – with Diane Miller.”  
  
“So, she came by the bar, wanting to interview me,” Jason reasoned before chuckling. “If that's the case, sorry about that. I don't think she's going to be interested in anything I have to say after our... meeting this evening.”  
  
“Trust me, it takes more than a few grunts to scare off Diane Miller.”  
  
“I don't grunt.”  
  
“Uh, you totally do,” she argued. Though he couldn't see her face in that moment, Jason just knew that Elizabeth had rolled her eyes at him. “Besides, do you really think I'd pin this new plan on you _talking_? Give me a little more credit than that. I talked. I told her about your life in the orphanage, how you lived in the boxcar after you graduated from high school, saving up your money for your first bike, about Jake giving you a job at the bar and how you managed to buy it from her just a few years later. I told her about all the charity work you've done for the orphanage and various children's programs around town. And I did all of this in a way that, while not directly disparaging against the Quartermaines, it totally painted them as the petty, selfish bastards that they are.”  
  
As they stepped out of the weeds and woods that they had been walking through, nearly tripping over the edge of the river as it suddenly appeared, Jason asked, “and all of this bad press helps your – _our –_ plan how exactly?”  
  
Beside him, however, Elizabeth didn't answer; instead, she gasped. “Jason, this is beautiful.”  
  
He shrugged his right shoulder, the arm that Elizabeth wasn't holding onto, and then lifted that hand to scratch his eyebrow. “It's not bad.”  
  
She pulled away from him, and he watched her in puzzled astonishment as she peered over the slight bank. “You said the river's deep, right?”  
  
He found his hand moving from his brow to the bridge of his nose, pinching rather than scratching. “Elizabeth. The plan?”  
  
“You really should have brought me here before.”  
  
More forcefully. “The. Plan.”  
  
She laughed, tugging her t-shirt over her head before Jason could even realize what she was doing... or maybe he was just too focused on the fact that, underneath that t-shirt, Elizabeth had been sporting _absolutely nothing_. No cami. No bra. From the waist up, she was absolutely bare. And suddenly his throat was dry, his tongue thick and unruly. He watched as she turned to look at him over her shoulder, a thin, graceful arm casually held against her otherwise naked chest. “Isn't it obvious, Jason? I'm going to shame the Quartermaines into doing exactly what we want them to: ponying up all that cash. But that's not really what you want to talk about, is it?”  
  
“What?” He really had no idea what she was saying.  
  
“I mean, here I am – topless, and you're going on and on about your newfound family. That's kind of weird, Moore. And creepy, too.”  
  
“Creepy. Weird. Yeah.”  
  
Elizabeth giggled. “And here I am, ready and willing to talk about... _us_.” Then she unbuttoned her jeans, sliding them down her hips, then her legs, and then finally kicking them off, tossing her flipflops away from her feet in practically the same motion, her cheekies (totally appropriate for Elizabeth) somehow disappearing while Jason reluctantly blinked. “Like I said,” she taunted him. “You definitely should have brought me here before. We might have avoided years of...” Lowering her gaze pointedly, she finished, “frustration.”  
  
And, with that, she turned and jumped into the river.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

**FNF #** **81\. Just another day at the beach...**

Jason Moore's mouth tasted... hot.  
  
The realization shouldn't have surprised her. After all, while Elizabeth had absolutely no interest in medicine, she wasn't a complete idiot – despite what her family believed – either. She knew that a human body's regular temperature was 98.6 degrees, so it made sense that the inside of someone's mouth would be warm. Steamy. Burning even.  
  
But Jason was, otherwise, so cool. And not in a hip, unaffected way either. He just... everything about him made her shiver... in a good way. To the outside observer, his personality came across as frosty, and, even once you got to know Jason, he was reserved. When she thought of him, she thought of him riding his motorcycle and the rush of chilling wind he roared into every time he drove his bike. She thought about his need to be outdoors, his arctic eyes, his penchant for cold beer. Thrown together, everything she knew about Jason Moore had led her to the belief that his mouth would have been just as cool tasting.  
  
And, yes, over the years, she had certainly spent her fair share of time contemplating what Jason would taste like... even if she hadn't been ready to admit the attraction, not even to herself.  
  
But now she knew.   
  
_Oh, how she knew!_  
  
She should have known that his mouth would make her lips sizzle. After all, he had barely touched her two weeks ago, and, since then, she'd been on fire, the heat of an early summer a poor excuse for the rush of flames Elizabeth had been battling for twelve days _and_ twelve nights. But nothing had fully prepared her for the taste of him, not the previous, teasing brush of his lips against her own and certainly not the kiss they had shared on the day they got married. That didn't count. That kiss, though far more real than she had wanted it to be at the time, wasn't just about them. But the toe-curling kisses they were sharing in that moment, those were definitely real. And they sure as hell counted.  
  
“Elizabeth,” Jason half groaned, half panted. She wasn't sure if the sound of her name off his lips was a protestation or a plea. She also wasn't entirely sure if she cared.  
  
Too busy enjoying the sensations rolling over her – Jason's teeth repeatedly sinking into her oft-tortured bottom lip only for his tongue to gently sooth it afterwards, his hands – one clenched in her still damp and rapidly curling locks while the other slowly slipped higher and higher up her t-shirt to her waiting, straining, begging breasts – branding her, his hips deliciously overpowering her own so that her legs formed a cradle for their bodies to meet in _just_ the right spot, Elizabeth couldn't be bothered to respond with intelligible words. Instead, she found herself grunting, the primal sound a note of displeasure at the idea of Jason pulling his mouth away from hers long enough to say her name. If she wouldn't have been so drugged into pleasure by that very same mouth, she would have laughed at how quickly his bad habits – grunting of all things – was rubbing off on her.  
  
Not that she wasn't _really_ enjoying the rubbing.  
  
And the rocking. The rocking was especially... nice.  
  
It was also escalating things between them extremely quickly. “Jason, wait,” she breathed out, needing to get his attention. While she waited for him to focus, she realized that, while his hand had _finally_ found one of her straining breasts, her own wanton hands were fiddling with the edge of his pants, playfully twisting and pulling the fabric in what could only be a prelude to the slight motions it would take to unbutton the heavy, restricting fabric. Still, she didn't withdraw her touch. Moving her lips so that they could sample the skin below his left ear, Elizabeth announced, “you know, I'm not going to sleep with you. At least, not tonight. Not yet.”  
  
The infuriating – and oh so tempting – man shrugged before dropping his face into the crook of her neck and latching his mouth onto the sensitive flesh there. In a matter of seconds, Elizabeth knew that, by the time he was finished with _that_ particular spot on her body, there would be a mark. What surprised her even more than the fact that Jason Moore was apparently that possessive... at least towards her... was the fact that she didn't mind.   
  
“I at least think that I deserve a proper date first before I put out. I mean, sure, we're married,” Elizabeth admitted, giving into her desire to giggle at the very idea of being the wife of the man who was pressed so intimately against her. The truth of their union was hitting her all of a sudden and in a completely different – not bad but definitely different – way. “And, yes, we did say to _have_ and to hold, but I don't think it's too much to ask for to want a little wooing first, maybe some dinner. I'd say dancing, too, but I have a feeling the only kind of dancing you do is horizontal and naked.”  
  
“I can do it standing up as well,” Jason remarked as his moist, _hot_ breath fanned across the top of her chest. It singed her skin as though her t-shirt wasn't even there. But then he moved back up to her throat, his teeth nipping at the points of her collar bones along the way of his journey.   
  
He wasn't talking about dancing, and she was no longer so sure why exactly they weren't going to have sex that night. “Plus,” Elizabeth added, slightly embarrassed to hear how her voice trembled but, nevertheless, plowing through with what she was going to say. “I can't sleep with you for the first time in Audrey's house.” Yes, she and Jason owned the house now, but it would always, in one manner or another, be her grandmother's. As for why her first time with Jason felt so taboo but the idea of sleeping with him all the no-doubt subsequent times that would follow while in Audrey's house didn't, she had no idea. “Although, the idea of the old bat turning in her coffin at the very idea of us _desecrating_ her beloved Hardy home does have its appeal.”  
  
“Every room,” Jason mumbled in agreement, his tongue sneaking out to lave her pulse point. “Every surface. Every goddamned nook and cranny.”  
  
Her enthusiastic agreement did not need voiced, so she simply, _finally_ removed her hands from Jason's pants, moved them upwards to cup his jaw, and then tugged his mouth back to her own, moaning in relief when their tastes finally blended once more.  
  
Several minutes later, her moans had turned to whimpers when he wrestled his mouth away from hers. “If we're not going to have sex,” he warned her, begged her. “Then you have to stop moving like that.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
His gaze locked on hers, and Elizabeth had to swallow a cry of desire when she saw that his dilated pupils had nearly eclipsed the sharp blue of his irises. “Like you want me to be inside of you.”  
  
She blushed, nodded, and then smiled when he returned his lips to her eagerly awaiting touch. They made out for a little while more, and, though the term was juvenile – made out, there was really no other way to describe their actions. Between greedy kisses and _a lot_ of heavy petting, they were the epitome of two horny teenagers, trapped in a 'you can look, and you can touch... but just a little bit' cycle of prolonged anticipation and even more sexual frustration. The hilarious part was that they were certainly not teenagers, that they were married, and that Elizabeth was pretty sure Jason had never been the typically tortured teenage boy.  
  
“You're either trying to test me or kill me,” Jason grumbled, pressing his hips further into the juncture of her thighs in an effort to still her movements. The added, fuller contact did nothing, however, to dim their desire, though it did finally make Elizabeth aware of just what he had been warning her about previously and was now complaining about. Despite her pronouncement that there would be no sex that night, _she_ had been the one shifting and slithering restlessly beneath him. What Jason didn't know was that her gyrations had only, in part, been an effort of seduction.  
  
Elizabeth snickered. At his confused look, those soft snickers turned into legitimate giggling, and, finally, when his confusion bled into aggravation, she was outright laughing – clutch your stomach, lose your breath, go red in the face laughing. By the time she had the frame of mind to sit up and dry the tears from the corners of her eyes, Jason had shied away from her and was rubbing his rock-hard thighs with closed, fairly trembling fists. She sidled up next to him, sitting on her knees as she wrapped her hands around his waist and plopped her chin on one of his shoulders.   
  
“I'm sorry, I'm really sorry,” she apologized sincerely. To emphasize her sincerity, she rubbed a palm against his stomach, only realizing belatedly that the intended, soothing touch was probably anything but. However, she didn't remove her hand. “I honestly didn't realize what I was doing until you forced me to stop... well, wiggling.”  
  
He glowered, so she pulled out the big guns, squirming around so that she plopped herself down in his lap, wrapping her legs around him, her arms around his neck. Looking him directly in the eye, Elizabeth confessed, “Jason, I have sand in places you've only dreamt about... occupying,” punctuating the teasing statement with a brilliant smile.   
  
He finally laughed. “That's what you get for going skinny dipping. In June. In freezing cold water.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I'm going to go take a shower. Alone,” she added as she climbed off his lap and pushed him back down as he moved to follow her. “And that's what you get for not going skinny dipping with me.”


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

**FNF #82. An eye for an eye only ends up making the whole world blind.** _**~ Mohandas Gandhi** _

While Elizabeth would never claim to enjoy having sand... _there_ , she did appreciate the excuse it gave her to shower. More importantly, it gave her the excuse to shave and primp. It was summer, so it wasn't like she was emulating the French or anything, but the river's water _had_ been cold, resulting in some ginormous goosebumps, and there were a few things a girl liked to check before allowing a guy to _check out_ those things, especially for the first time.  
  
So, she took her time. After all, it wasn't like Jason was going anywhere. They lived together. And he had made it very clear earlier just how much he wanted her. A guy that interested didn't hit the road... or, in their case, the hallway... after a half an hour of waiting. Besides, just because they both apparently had been anticipating such a night for years did not mean that she couldn't heighten the anticipation just that much more. Maybe she wasn't planning on _sleeping_ with Jason that evening, but that didn't mean that they couldn't do stuff. Lots of stuff. Stuff that would only be made better by baby soft _and_ smooth skin.  
  
Oh, and clean, non-sandy hair would be a bonus, too.  
  
However, Elizabeth did draw the line at blow drying her hair before rejoining Jason in her bedroom. That just would have looked like she was avoiding him and like she was way too vain. Shaving was one thing. After all, it was in effort of her peace of mind and of both of their enjoyment. But wet hair? That wouldn't stand in the way of anything. Plus, since Jason had kissed her twelve nights before, Elizabeth had been paying more attention to her husband, and one of the many things she had noticed about him was that he seemed to have a fascination with her hair – the wilder, the better, and nothing promised wild-Elizabeth-Webber hair than going to bed with it wet.   
  
With that thought, she snickered.”Look at me, the self-less wife already.” Pulling on the t-shirt of Jason's that she had snagged from the clean laundry earlier in the week, for a moment, she debated not wearing anything else – _just_ his t-shirt, but that just seemed like pure torture. For the both of them. So, she slipped on a pair of sexy underwear as well, brushed her teeth, and then flipped off the bathroom light. Her mess from showering and her dirty clothes would be there in the morning. Or afternoon.  
  
“I know you were too chicken to skinny dip with me, but, if you want to get ready for bed, too, feel free to use....”  
  
Elizabeth stopped speaking as she came through the doorway of her en-suite, a tender grin pulling up the corners of her plump, still kiss-swollen mouth at the sight waiting before her. Despite the disappointment that also set in, she just couldn't _not_ smile. Jason was sound asleep. Rolled over on his stomach, his face buried in one of her pillows, his body taking up more than his half of the bed, he was dead to the world, oblivious to her re-entrance to the room and obviously not about to take a shower. Sometime while she had been in the bathroom, he'd stripped off everything but his underwear – black boxer-briefs (apparently, someone else _wasn't_ above torturing her) and fallen fast asleep. Sure, Elizabeth regretted not being able to do more _stuff_ with Jason that evening, but it was almost worth it to witness him so carefree and comfortable in her bed. He looked like he belonged there.  
  
If that thought wasn't so tempting and frightening at the same time, she might had stood there half the night, watching him, but it was. While Elizabeth had no problem wanting Jason, it was a whole different ballgame to need him. And she wasn't talking about his suddenly discovered DNA and its 780 million benefits but _him –_ her friend, her co-conspirator, her fix for her latest obsession of going fast on the back of a motorcycle, her husband, and her it-better-be-freaking-soon-or-I'm-going-to-spontaneously-burst lover.   
  
Clearing her mind, she shook away anything and everything besides going to sleep. So, Elizabeth switched off her bedside lamp, crawled up onto her messy queen sized bed, and snuggled down next to Jason, forgoing any blankets in lieu of using his more than plentiful body heat to keep her warm during the night. Though he didn't wake, he seemed to sense her nearby presence, adjusting so that she could crawl into the crook of his arm and mold herself against his larger form. It the most comfortable her bed had ever felt... well, besides those nights when she was piss drunk and any flat surface felt like heaven. Within minutes, she was asleep, too.

 

* * *

 

“Ugh. Shit.”  
  
Elizabeth heard the grumbled, pained words from beside her... or, actually, it was kind of from... around...? her. She and Jason were so tangled up together, it was like a bad case of adjoined, definitely not identical, twins. Between their skin sticking to each other, his bed hogging ways, and her need for his body heat, they'd be lucky if they'd be able to untangle themselves. But that didn't have to happen anytime soon. It was Sunday, neither of them had to work, and, thank you Elvis, the Q's weren't calling. Or writing. Or knocking.   
  
Wanting to go back to sleep and not particularly worried about whatever it was Jason had so rudely woken her up over, she decided to treat him like the pesky alarm clock he was imitating, blinding reaching over and slapping him like a snooze button.  
  
“Ow!”  
  
“Oh, please,” she groused right back at him. “That didn't hurt, but it will next time if you don't go back to sleep.”  
  
“I can't.”  
  
“Well, then, at least shut up, so I can.”  
  
He didn't say anything for several minutes, so Elizabeth settled back down, wiggling her head into her pillow just the way she liked. It was like burrowing... but for brunettes. However, it was no sooner than she'd believed Jason to have taken her directions for the sound advice that they were when she heard him hissing beside her.  
  
“You've got to be kidding me,” she huffed, shifting away/off/out from underneath him to glare at the man beside her. “What?”  
  
Droll, Jason answered, “I have something in my eye.”  
  
And men wondered why women were and always would be the tougher sex. Rolling her eyes, she threw a leg over his chest, lifted her body up, and then plopped down on top of him, straddling him. “Alright, so we can go back to sleep, let me see.”  
  
He had a hand covering his right eye, his left one clenched shut, whether out of discomfort or sheer stubbornness, Elizabeth didn't know. She'd bet breakfast on the latter, though. “No. I'll be fine.”  
  
In doubt, she snorted. “Yeah, whatever you say, you big baby.” He glowered at her in response. Even with his eyes closed, she knew that's what he was doing. “It's probably just an eyelash, anyway. Women get them all the time. You blink your eyes a few times, and, if you have to, you rub your fist against your eye, and then poof. The eyelash disappears.”  
  
“I've had a lash in my eye before, Elizabeth.”  
  
“I'm not surprised. For a guy, you have unnaturally long eyelashes. It's kind of disgusting... in an 'I-hate-you' way.”  
  
When he still didn't let her take a look, she decided the moment called for drastic measures. So, reaching for his left nipple, she pinched him. Hard.  
  
“Ow!,” Jason bellowed, his eyes opening, his hand falling to push against the bed and raise his head, neck, and chest off of the mattress. He lifted so high, he almost pushed Elizabeth off of him. Almost. Lucky for her, she had strong thighs. It was lucky for him, too. “What the hell was that for?”  
  
Seeing how red and swollen his right eye was, Elizabeth didn't even hear his question, her nimble fingers automatically lifting to delicately run against his face. “Oh, Jason. This is awful. What did you do?” He stilled at her tender touch. Not waiting for him to reply, she scooted off his torso and the bed, moving quickly into the bathroom to wet a washcloth with warm water. Task complete, she rejoined him, reclaiming her former position, straddling his chest. “Here,” she coaxed, lowering the towel to rest softly against his face. It only took one hand, however, to wipe around his eye, so Elizabeth ran her free fingers against his jaw, hoping the sensation would be soothing.  
  
Biting her lip, she met the gaze of his now much calmer, unblemished eye. “I really hope this isn't pink eye. That shit's like mad contagious.”  
  
“Aw, my selfless, little nurse,” Jason teased, chuckling. She stuck her tongue out at him. “Don't worry, though. I think it's sand.”  
  
This time it was her turn to laugh. “Whoops. My bad.”  
  
“Oh, I see how it is,” he remarked, feigning a caustic tone. His large, calloused hands settled against her knees, slowing inching their way up to her thighs and then underneath her – _his –_ t-shirt. “You find my pain amusing.”  
  
Elizabeth grinned boldly. “That's why you love me.” At the realization of what she had said, though, her smile quickly fell. “I mean like. Or lust. Or... well, you Lllll... me. Totally red in the face with mortification – yep, what she was feeling was well past mere embarrassment, Elizabeth groused, “and _I_ loathe me.”  
  
She wanted Jason to chuckle, to help her make light of the moment so that it could be dismissed, but he didn't. Instead, after a few seconds during which he simply watched her silently with his one good eye, he responded, “I could say the first thing, you know.”  
  
“Please don't,” Elizabeth pleaded. At his confused and slightly hurt look, she rushed to explain. “It's just... I'm not ready to hear that. I know that, of the two of us, you, as an orphan, should be the one with commitment and intimacy issues, but I'll see your dead mother and deadbeat dad and raise you with Jeffrey and Caroline Webber. Hell, we can toss in Audrey Hardy for good measure, too. Yes, I had a family growing up, but I now have a hell of a lot of issues because of said family. Are you even sure what you're getting yourself into here, Moore?”  
  
“I'm pretty sure I do.” As if to emphasize his statement, Jason slipped the tips of his fingers underneath the edge of her underwear. And they stayed there as she continued to talk.  
  
“I can admit that I'm attracted to you. That I want more from you than just friendship. And I can even accept the fact that you feel and want the same thing from me. Mind you, that still boggles my mind. I mean, you're... you. Jason. This guy that was just so put together, so freaking hot, so experienced, and just _soooo_ out of my league that I never once thought that you'd ever be interested in me. So, I ignored the fact that, when I saw you bend over in the bar or you flashed one of your rare, twinkly-eyed smiles at me, I wanted to jump your bones, and I was just your friend, taking what I could get, being thankful for that, and really trying not to wish for anything more.”  
  
“Ditto. Well, except you're a girl, not a guy.”  
  
Looking down at the spot under her – _his_ -t-shirt where his hands were... playing, Elizabeth quirked a brow. “Glad you noticed, Moore.”  
  
“Still in bed, I see. Hmph,” a third, extremely unwanted voice harrumphed in disapproval. “I tell you, that's what's wrong with your generation.”  
  
“Oh my god,” Elizabeth squealed, diving off of Jason and scrambling to hide herself under the covers. She _really_ hoped that, in her haste to hide herself, that she hadn't flashed Edward Quartermaine her underwear.  
  
“What the hell,” Jason barked. She didn't need to look out from underneath the blanket to know that Jason was livid beside her. “How did you get in here, old man?”  
  
“You don't think I employ that no-good, lazy butler of mine just because he flirts his way into my wife's good graces, do you? Bah,” Eddie Q dismissed. Elizabeth could just see his pudgy hand waving away _such_ a crazy idea. “Reginald picked the lock.”  
  
“Get. Out.” Jason demanded through gritted teeth. She could _hear_ his jaw grinding.   
  
“Well, no doubt, my boy; no doubt. You and your lovely wife need to get dressed. We're going out to brunch in half an hour.”  
  
Elizabeth waited until she heard her bedroom door close before peeking out from underneath the covers. “So much for shaving.”


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

**FNF #** **83\. For every minute you remain angry, you give up sixty seconds of peace of mind.** _**~ Ralph Waldo Emerson** _

Jason Moore hated Edward Quartermaine.   
  
He hated his business and his business practices. He hated his uncomfortable, over-decorated house. Excuse him, mansion. He hated his family. He hated his attitude, how he treated people. He hated his conservative suits which matched his conservative politics. He hated his cook and his cook's inability to make normal food that normal people actually ate. He hated his pretentious airs. He hated his hotel, his restaurant, and he even hated the table they were sitting at.  
  
But. But he had to admit that the man knew his steaks.  
  
The very last thing Jason had wanted to do that morning was go to breakfast – nee, brunch – with his long-lost (in Jason's opinion, he could get lost again) grandfather, _especially_ when Elizabeth was threatening to make him wear an eyepatch... in just her underwear and _his_ t-shirt. But, nevertheless, they had gone, just like Edward wanted them to. For the life of him, Jason still wasn't sure why. But that didn't mean that he wasn't going to take advantage of a free meal. If living in an orphanage had taught him anything, it was eat when you can, and, even better, eat well if the chance ever presents itself. Edward Quartermaine's family tab at the Port Charles Grille fit just that.  
  
So, he had gone all out. Milk _and_ orange juice. Hueavos Rancheros. Fresh, tropical fruit. Corncake. And steak – a nice, big, juicy, finely cut, thick, expensive steak. It was delicious... and almost worth giving up great morning sex, because Jason had no doubt that, if he had been given the proper chance, he would have been inside of Elizabeth that morning and not a stuffy restaurant. After all, she had only said that she wouldn't sleep with him the night before. She had said absolutely nothing about that morning, and he gave no weight to her Audrey concerns. Plus, he had the injury card to play, not to mention her guilt over the fact that it was her skinny-dipping which led him to his present one-eyed condition. And, hey, beggars couldn't be choosers. If he had to use guilt to get Elizabeth Webber in bed, then so be it. He had been lusting after her for years to no avail; he'd use any trick in the book as long as it would work.  
  
“No.”

For a moment, Jason thought that maybe he had voiced his thoughts out loud, Elizabeth's definitive, negative statement too perfectly timed with his inner pronouncements to _not_ be questioned. He looked up – a fork in one hand, a knife in the other, both paused mid-cut, but her irritated gaze wasn't directed at him. Rather, it was lasered in on the old man.  
  
“Now, I don't believe...”  
  
“I said no,” she interrupted unapologetically. “Nai. Nie. Nee. Non. Nein. Naha. Nu. Neit. _No._ ”  
  
For the life of him, Jason could not figure out what had Elizabeth so hot under the collar. Not that she was actually wearing a collar. No, instead, she had on some ridiculous shirt that left her arms _and_ back completely bare. It was driving him completely crazy, and, if it wasn't for his steak, he probably would have had her upstairs in a hotel room or, hell, out in the lobby, ducking into one of the bathrooms. As for what he could recall of the conversation before he had totally lost interest, Edward had been yammering on about someone named Taylor, though he personally didn't know anybody by that name. Maybe they were a friend of Elizabeth's?  
  
“Why, I didn't realize you were such a linguist,” Edward replied as smooth as butter, not showing that Elizabeth's outburst had ruffled his feathers even in the slightest. However, beside him, Justice (apparently, it was Edward's monthly Sunday to dine with his illegitimate family members) seemed to find the entire exchange amusing, doing a piss-poor job of hiding his snickers behind his napkin.  
  
However, _his wife_ was not backing down. “Don't smart-ass a smart-asser, Eddie.”  
  
“Ah, a wordsmith, too, I see.” As if the retort wasn't enough, the old man waved a chubby, reprimanding finger in Elizabeth's direction.  
  
Yeah, Edward was not helping himself. At all. At least, he wasn't helping himself to anything but a deeper hole, and, with one glance, it was obvious that the only way that geezer was getting out of even a puddle was if someone gave him a generous boost.   
  
Elizabeth narrowed her gaze. “Wave that finger at me again, Quartermaine, and I'll stab it with my fork.”  
  
So much for diplomacy. Whatever Edward had been rambling on about before Elizabeth's outburst, it was enough to make her completely forget about _their_ plan.  
  
With jowls waggling, Edward responded, “I would ask you, young lady, to remember that, technically, you are a Quartermaine now and to act and behave accordingly. This isn't some... bar fight that I'm in no doubt you're used to – what, given your stellar resume and penchant for frequenting establishments not of The PC Grille's standards.” Jason knew that, while attacking Elizabeth, Edward had also insulted Jake's, but, frankly, he was too interested in _his wife_ 's comeback to worry about defending his bar. “This is a business meeting for crying out loud, not that anyone would be able to tell by the looks of the three of you.” His last insult was said with a sneer.  
  
Speaking for the first time since they had ordered, Justus offered, “I highly doubt you told Jason and Elizabeth that this was a business meeting when you invited them this morning.”  
  
He snorted. Invitation his ass.   
  
“As for my casual attire, I checked your ELQ schedule, Edward, and you did not have this brunch listed as a business meeting. In fact, there was nothing on your schedule which usually means you're up to no-good and eyebrow deep in dirty-dealings.”  
  
“Oh, what would you know,” the old man protested, scowling.  
  
“Considering that, just like Jason, I'm another of the family's dirty-dealings – a direct descendent of yours, in fact, I'd say I know a lot.”  
  
“Well, nobody asked you,” Edward countered.  
  
“And that's precisely the problem,” Elizabeth re-entered the conversation, shoving her food aside to rest her arms against the table so she could lean closer to her adversary. “You don't ask anybody; you demand. You demand, you belittle, you bribe, and you steamroll, but you certainly don't ask.”  
  
“Just because I may want what is best for my family...”  
  
Like before, she interrupted. “And the role of the broken record will today be played by Elizabeth Moore. NO.” Despite _still_ not having the slightest clue as to why Elizabeth was so protective of some stranger named Taylor, Jason loved hearing her use and claim his last name as her own. “Don't you even try to play the loving patriarch card, because no one at this table is buying it. No, what this whole meal has been about is you trying to use Jason, to mold him into the puppet your own son never wanted to be, the puppet your daughter always aspired to be but you were too sexist to accept a woman in what you see as a man's world, the puppet your eldest grandson bucked away from being in order to pursue his own creative interests, the puppet AJ's too much of a screw-up drunk to handle being – damn those pesky strings, and the puppet that, let's be real here, Justus was just too black to be, you racist, bigoted hypocrite. No offense, Justus.”  
  
The man in question held up his hands to signify that he didn't mind what Elizabeth had said but didn't offer a verbal response, nor did he offer a defense of his red-faced, blustering grandfather either.   
  
But Jason's _wife_ wasn't done yet.   
  
“So, that means that we will not be moving into the mansion. No way, no freaking how. The fact that you would even expect us to after your family showed oh-so-clearly just exactly how little they can respect privacy or use basic, human kindness shows just how delusional you are. That also means that Jason will not be selling the bar. I won't be quitting my job to train under Lila on how to become a Stepford, socialite wife. We won't be changing our name to Quartermaine ever, let alone in time for your big, July 4th mockery of what Independence truly means. There will be no document drawn up to prevent me from ever seeing a dime of Jason's and, by extension, your money, and if I ever catch wind of you _ever_ talking to my OB-GYN again, I'll personally make sure that you will no longer have a need to visit a proctologist. And, finally, there will be no junking, as you say, of Jason's motorcycle, no cutting of his hair, and certainly no visit to your tailor.” She stood, allowing her napkin which had been sitting in her lap to drop to the floor. “Capiche, old man?”  
  
Without waiting for a response, Elizabeth marched out of the restaurant. Jason followed, not a single glance spared in the direction of his glowering, grumbling biological grandfather – a grin so wide on his face, nothing and no one could wipe it off.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen**

**FNF #** **84\. To he who avenges a father, nothing is impossible. ~ Pierre Corneille** _**, French Dramatist** _

Jake's needed a signature drink.  
  
Somewhere between telling Jason that she'd work on cleaning the bar while he tackled the books and actually making it to the closet where the cleaning supplies were kept, Elizabeth had been struck by her brilliant idea. The only problem was that a mixologist she was not. But Jason was a Quartermaine now. Kind of. He could afford her playing Betty Crocker with his booze. Besides, it sure beat the hell out of sweeping up peanut shells... even if a few of her concoctions up to that point had made her nauseous.  
  
And, no, she wasn't nauseous because she was snockered. While she might have been on her fifth drink already (and there was plenty of hard liquor in all five of them so far), Elizabeth was only taking a sip, partly because they were atrocious and partly because she didn't want to get plastered.   
  
After they had left old Scrooge Mc-Jowls-Are-Shakin' back at the PC Grille, Elizabeth had vetoed Jason's idea of heading home. For one, she knew that, eventually, someone from the Q's would come looking for them, eager to present pitch number two. But mainly she knew that, if they went back to the house, they'd _play house_... well, the childless kind, and, frankly, she didn't want to have hot, horny, angry sex with Jason. At least, not yet. And, when they did eventually have hot, horny, angry sex together, she wanted to be pissed off at him, not his grouchy, geezer of a grandfather.  
  
So, afternoon delight had been postponed until another day. In exchange, Elizabeth had graciously told Jason that he was taking her out on her requested date that night after he finished whatever he needed to do at Jake's, because, if things went to plan, he might not make it into work the next day. Those were big words, and she planned on backing them up. Big time.   
  
In the meantime, though, she had hours to kill, a lot of aggression to work her way through, and absolutely no ambition to do anything productive. Hence, Jake's signature drink. Only... it wasn't going so well. While no one had ever called Elizabeth a good cook before, she had always blamed her kitchen failures on the dry, redundancy of recipes. They were just too damn restrictive, leaving absolutely no room for imagination. But she wasn't mixing drinks with a recipe. Hell, she hadn't used the little cocktail guides Jason kept under the bar even when she worked at Jake's. Rather, she was working off instincts, letting the creative juices flow.  
  
“Apparently literally,” she groused as she her flip-flop stuck to the floor and she realized that something had spilled down over the counter. “Oh well.” What was one more little mess when she wasn't cleaning everything else that she said she would? Just like her bedding... which she should have been at home washing, seeing as how it was closer to being a sandbox than an actual bed at that point. However, there was always the next weekend, and, in the meantime, they had Jason's bed to try out. Break in. Hell, if she had her way, wear out.  
  
Realizing that, while talking to herself, she had finished her sixth test drink, Elizabeth pinched her nose closed with one hand (she had learned _that_ lesson on drink number two – if something smelled like ass, it was probably going to taste like it, too, and she had put too much thought and effort into these concoctions to not at least try them) while lifting her glass with the other. This particular drink had been inspired by her love of Andes mints. She had managed to find a bottle of chocolate milk in the fridge, and, miracles of miracles, it wasn't spoiled. (After all, who brought milk to a freaking bar?) Elizabeth combined that with some crème de la menthe, the last dregs of some dusty bottle of stuff called menta, chocolate liqueur, and she had even tossed in a few actual Andes mints that she had dug out of the bottom of her purse. It didn't look so promising, but Elizabeth hoped that it would taste like a naughty milkshake.  
  
“Down the hatch.” Even as the first dribble of the mixture touched her lips, she knew there was no way in hell she was swallowing. Instead, she turned for the sink and spewed, gagging even as she continued to talk. “Or not.” Taking a chug of water, Elizabeth swished it around her mouth, spitting it out, too, in an effort to cleanse her palate. After pouring the concoction down the d rain, she slammed the now empty glass down into the sink and exclaimed, “worst one yet.” But then she immediately set to work in mixing another.  
  
This time, she didn't think as much; she just dumped, hoping that blind luck and instincts would guide her further than her love of candy. It – candy – had never let her down before, but, hey, there was always a first time for everything. “I should have just cleaned Jason's damn glasses like I said I would,” she chastised herself, fully aware that she was kind of pouting but not really giving a flying fig. “Jason's barware. Jason's _bar.” S_ norting in self-amusement (really, she was turning into a right, young pervert and, frankly, it was disturbing), she said, “I'd like to polish his bar. Buff his stem. Rub his....”  
  
“I'll take one of those.”  
  
“Holy, goddamn sassafras skipper.” Her hand went to her suddenly racing heart; the bottle formerly in her hand went to the floor. Luckily, Jason had a rubber mat behind the bar to help his bartenders' tired, sore feet, so it didn't break, because, otherwise, he would have come running out of the back where his office was, and the last thing she wanted him to have to deal with that afternoon was a Quartermaine. And, yes, the Q's were things. At that point, in her book, they didn't rank human status. They made Audrey look... well, if not like a homosapien, then at least like an alien – a non-green, non-tentacled one. Refocusing upon the bug that needed squashing before her, she demanded, “ever heard of knocking before? If so, try it.”  
  
“I'm sorry, Elizabeth,” Alan genuinely (at least, she thought he seemed genuine) said as he took a seat at the bar. “I honestly didn't mean to frighten you. I'm here looking for Jason.”  
  
“You don't say.”  
  
Jason's dead-beat daddy sighed. “I think I'll take that drink now.”  
  
She didn't warn him that it would probably taste like the inside of an el camino's muffler; she just slid the tumbler down the scarred surface of the bar top, the glass landing directly in Alan's outstretched hand. “Wait, aren't you a recovering addict?”  
  
“Pills,” he answered, “not alcohol.”  
  
“Ah, yes, that's AJ's territory.” Alan didn't respond, he just picked up his drink. “Isn't there something about gateway drugs, though? You'd think booze could lead to barbiturates.”  
  
Alan gasped... and not in a good way. “Not that kind of booze. What's in that?”  
  
She shrugged carelessly, starting to clean up the mess she had made. “I'm not really sure.”  
  
“Well, for my cousin's sake, let's hope that you're a better assistant than you are a bartender.”  
  
“She's my cousin, too, now, isn't she?”  
  
“Yes, well, you see... about that.” Alan frowned; Elizabeth smirked. When he acted as though he wanted her to say something, to pick up their conversation thread, she remained silent. Finally, after several silent moments, Alan continued. “Is Jason here?”  
  
“Do you see him here?”  
  
Maybe she had drug Jason into her plan to scam the Q's out of their money, but that didn't mean that she'd subject him to whatever it was Alan had planned for that afternoon. After how Edward had acted at breakfast, Elizabeth had a feeling Jason's bio-dad wasn't there to apologize for his own father. Rather, he was there to smooth the waters, to further the old man's agenda by putting a different, perhaps more sentimental spin on it. If such an attempt wouldn't have been so glaringly pathetic and obvious, it would have been laughable. As it was, she had a feeling that, laughable or not, it was also going to be hurtful. Maybe Jason had no expectations when it came to his newly-discovered family, and she sure as hell knew that he wasn't looking for an instant connection with Alan, but that didn't mean that the wrong words or a cutting admission couldn't still sting him. It was her opinion that Jason had already been through enough. If she could handle Alan on her own and spare Jason that confrontation, then so be it.  
  
“I, well, I would like to talk with him.”  
  
“That much is obvious.”  
  
Alan was beginning to get frustrated. “It's important. Do you know where he is?”  
  
“I'm his wife. Of course I know where he is. Oh wait,” she feigned realization. “Such honesty isn't always the policy with Quartermaine marriages, is it?”  
  
He scowled at her. “Yes, I heard you have quite the mouth on you.”  
  
“And I know that, apparently, you don't, because, otherwise, you would have spoken up years ago... oh, say when Jason's mother died... and claimed your son.”  
  
At least the cheat and liar had the good graces to wince and shy back in embarrassment. “It's complicated, Elizabeth. You don't know how it was all those years ago, and you don't understand what it was like for me.”  
  
What she did understand was that Monica was aware of Jason's paternity, and, if Monica was aware of the truth, then her husband probably was as well. Hell, it was probably his job as chief of staff to make sure that any medical records tying Jason Moore to the Quartermaines were dead and buried long before Jason was old enough to start asking questions about his father. But she wanted that confirmation for herself, straight from the horse's ass's mouth. “Then why don't you enlighten me.”  
  
“I rather think that is a conversation I should have with my son, not you.”  
  
“And, frankly, I don't think you deserve to call Jason your son.”  
  
Alan countered with, “but does what you think really matter that much?”  
  
“To Jason it does. I made all of this happen – the reveal, the meals. Just like that,” she snapped her fingers in emphasis. “I can make it all disappear as well. If you want _my husband_ , you're going to have to go through me first.”  
  
Alan seemed to weigh what she said, his gaze narrowed thoughtfully in her direction. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders caving inward as he relented. “Fine. You win. We'll do this your way.”  
  
She snorted. “You might have lost, but I sure as hell didn't win.”  
  
He ignored her, launching into his story. “Monica and I... we've always had a contentious relationship. We love each other very much, but it's well... it's a caustic love, if you will. Damaged. Flawed. Our whole marriage... during all our of marriages, it's been one battle after the other. Sometimes, usually, it's as small as a simple slight – a forgotten anniversary, an argument over past misdeeds – that sets us off, only we don't yell and scream and sulk for a few days. At least, we don't _only_ do those things. We test each other. We push each other. And, if one of us hurts the other, we retaliate. Almost always, this has been with affairs. Hell, I don't know, a part of me thinks we just crave the excitement. Nothing reignites a flame like jealousy.”  
  
“That's not a contentious marriage; that's a warped one.”  
  
Surprising her, Alan chuckled. “You're still young. You and Jason are in that blissful newlywed stage. Give it time.”   
  
He was wrong. Maybe Elizabeth wasn't sure if she was ready for a real marriage with her husband, but she knew that, once she was, it would never be anything like Alan and Monica's relationship. But she didn't say this out loud. Instead, she remained, silent, quietly re-stacking bottles as Alan talked.  
  
“It was during one of these back and forth times that I... got involved with Jason's mother, with Susan. Monica had just had an affair with... well, your uncle actually – small world. He was also my rival. We hated each other, and Monica knew that. Oh, she knew it well, trust me. And there was even some doubt as to whether AJ was really my son. I felt... belittled, like less of a man, so I went out and tried to make her feel the same way. I had an affair.”  
  
“Yeah, I get all of this,” Elizabeth finally had to interject. “For whatever reason, you cheated on your wife. You weren't in love with Susan. She was just a convenience that ended up having a not so convenient consequence. She was just one in a long line of affairs but, unlike Lucy Coe, you didn't marry her, even knowing that she had your son.”  
  
“But did I,” Alan countered. “If Susan was willing to sleep with a married man, who else was she with?”  
  
“Oh, so, let's automatically lump all of your sins on her. Nice.”  
  
“No, you're twisting my words around. That's not what I mean... well, not exactly. See, this is exactly why I didn't want to talk to you about this.”  
  
“Why? Do you really think that Jason would be more understanding of you calling his mother a whore? Do you actually think that he'd be okay with the fact that you didn't even entertain the idea of claiming him because his mother was just a woman you used to pay back your bitch of a cheating wife?”  
  
Slamming his fist unto the bar, Alan snapped, “that's not what happened. By the time I realized Susan was pregnant, Monica and I had reconciled, and everyone knew that AJ was my son. My son; my heir. I couldn't just... jeopardize that for....”  
  
“For a second son. For a nobody. For a bastard,” Elizabeth filled in where Alan stopped.  
  
“For a possibility,” he corrected, denied.  
  
“I find that funny since the news came out that Jason was _supposedly_ your son weeks ago, yet you've still to ask that _possibility_ for a paternity test.” Resuming her task of washing up the dirty glasses, Elizabeth didn't even spare Alan a glance as she said, “I think it's time you left.”  
  
She waited until he was gone before she shut off the water. Without turning around, she asked, “how much did you hear?”  
  
“Enough,” Jason murmured.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen**

**FNF #** **85\. "A man provides for his family. He does so because he is a man."**

Silently – partly because he wanted to witness Elizabeth's response to his date night plans without provocation or interference and partly because she rarely gave him a chance to talk first, Jason watched as _his wife_ climbed off the back of his bike, his head swiveling around to take in her every reaction.  
  
“Where are we? I kept trying to catch a glimpse of some road signs – any signs, but trying to read road signs while you're driving is like trying to read a doctor's chicken scratch... with bifocals on.” Up until that point, her voice had been muffled due to the helmet she had been wearing, but she wrestled it off of her head, handing it to him automatically to store. “Plus, have you seen what the world looks like through your own helmet, because it's nothing to write to _Consumer Reports_ about. Sheesh. Then there's that whole bobble-head-doll feeling it gives me after about twenty minutes. It's a good thing I plan on spending the next twenty-four hours or so... give or take a kitchen run or two... in bed, because my neck's going to have more crimps in it than a bad 80's prom hairstyle.”  
  
He just let her rant and ramble, knowing that she'd have to get as much out of her system from what she had thought of to say during their several hour long ride before she could even take in their surroundings. As she finally swung her left leg out, behind, and away from him, planting it on solid ground along with her already lowered right leg, he observed her closely, noticing that she was... well, walking funny, actually. While he had intended their date to culminate in events which would have resulted in such an awkwardly adorable display, Jason never thought that three hours straddling his motorcycle (and not him) would beat him to the punch.  
  
“Don't you even say it,” Elizabeth warned him, dragging his gaze up from her legs and back to her face. Her cheeks were flushed – whether from adrenaline and excitement or embarrassment, he wasn't sure, though Jason didn't know if anything could actually embarrass the woman he was married to – and her hair was disheveled, gloriously messy and carefree which was just how he liked it. “I can see you thinking it, and I can practically feel your smirk burning into me, but I better not hear it. You got that, Moore?”  
  
“Crystal clear,” he remarked, joining her as he swiftly stood. Moving so that he was standing directly before her, their bodies mere inches apart but not touching, he slid his hands into his front jeans' pockets, quirked his brows in curiosity, and rocked back on his motorcycle boots' heels. “So...?”  
  
“So?” Elizabeth's face scrunched up in obvious question, but, before he could respond, she seemed to realize what he was asking without further prompting. “Oh!” Twisting just her head around, she took in their setting, her upper teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she mulled both the tender flesh and her reaction. Finally, she turned back to him, smiling. “It's... it's perfect, Jason.”  
  
As she went back to her observations, he responded, “I thought you'd like it. You scream loud enough when you're on the back of my bike, I thought maybe you'd enjoy watching some professional racers.” Plus, it wasn't like she had given him much notice to actually plan something. While he had been in the back claiming to be going over the bar's books, Jason had actually been scrambling for ideas, searching the net for anything that might interest the both of them but that wasn't your typical date fare. Sure, the event was three hours away from Port Charles, but, after her confrontation with Alan, they had left right away. He was grateful for how she had defended both him and his mother, and, frankly, neither of them wanted to waste any more of their time together rehashing anything that had to do with the Q's. As for driving back home after the races were over, Elizabeth was already planning on taking the next day off from work, and he made his own schedule. The hard part would probably be actually going back to Port Charles. There were plenty of hotels between the event and home, and a part of Jason would prefer to just keep driving into night, long past the three hours that it would take them to get back to their sleepy, riverside town. “And they have practically everything here – from freestyle, to supermotos, to quads, supercross, even sidecars.”  
  
As though she hadn't been listening to him, Elizabeth talked over the top of his explanation, “there's no way in hell, not in a million years, that we'll see a Quartermaine here.”  
  
He couldn't agree with her more.  
  
“What do you want to do first? There's food. We could go find some seats, or there are supposed to be a ton of vendors here as well, selling everything from souvenirs to bikes and ATV's.”  
  
“Food,” Elizabeth answered. “Definitely food. I might have been sitting on my now numb ass for the past three hours, but riding has cured my blowhard induced nausea.”  
  
“Lead the way.” While Jason motioned for her to go ahead of him so that she could find what she wanted, he also wasn't sure how to act. Granted, they were married, and they had agreed that they had feelings for each other, but he had no idea what kind of date Elizabeth was. Not only had he previously not exactly been known as the dating type, but he had never really seen Elizabeth around her past boyfriends. While she had no problem telling him about the guys she dated, she never brought them around to Jake's to interact with him. Before, he had always assumed this was because she didn't consider him as good of a friend as he did her; now, he knew that it was because she didn't want her exes to sense what she had previously believed to have been unrequited feelings for Jason. So, he was pleasantly surprised when Elizabeth didn't walk off as he had suggested but, instead, took his hand in hers and walked beside him.  
  
“Do you have any idea what you want? These types of events usually have the kind of food you find at fairs: pizza, steak sandwiches, gyros...”  
  
“Ugh,” she groaned, the noise sounding like part dejection and part anticipation. “I really want a corn dog.”  
  
He didn't get why or how a corn dog presented a problem, so he shrugged. “Then get one.”  
  
“Jason, I really don't think this is the best place to walk around, chomping down on something that's in the shape of a phallic...”  
  
“Okay. I get it. Point made. And nice word choice, there. _Chomping_.”  
  
She snickered and then smiled, all bright eyes and happy features. “Do they have elephant ears?”  
  
“I have no idea what those are, and they sound disgusting, so they probably do.” When she laughed, Jason could have sworn that he was suddenly walking a few inches taller.  
  
“Jason? Elizabeth?” But then her laughter died, and their steps stopped, and Jason felt their entire evening crashing down around them before it even really had a chance to begin. “I thought that was the two of you. What are you doing here?”  
  
In tandem, they slowly turned as though, if they moved in slow motion, what they feared to be true would actually be proven false. All too soon, though, the voice Jason had immediately recognized was confirmed by a face he regrettably knew just as well, albeit briefly. “Ned,” he greeted succinctly. He had no doubt that his newly-discovered cousin expected him to make small talk, to remark on what a coincidence it was that they were both there, but it didn't feel like coincidence; it felt like punishment. And he had never been one for small talk.  
  
However, the same could not be said about Elizabeth... or, well, it was more like she was always one for sarcasm. “Well, we came here to go to the opera, but, wouldn't you know, I forgot my gloves, and Jason doesn't even own a pair of those flippy binocular do-dads. We make bad Q's, don't we.”  
  
“Ah, yes. I heard about your mouth. When I left to come here earlier – I'm singing the national anthem and performing a small concert between races to promote my new acoustic, live album coming out this fall, Grandfather was still ranting about your brunch, and everyone was waiting on tenterhooks for Alan to get home and report in about how his meeting went with Jason.”  
  
He could tell that the singer wanted his own curiosity sated. Instead, Jason said, “it didn't.” While he didn't have anything against Ned individually, and while the guy had been decent towards both he and Elizabeth since the truth of his paternity had been revealed, at that point, he couldn't see past Ned's connections to the Quartermaines, and, nice guy or not, he was damned by association.   
  
“Yes, well... I should probably, you know... I need to go... get ready. To perform. Maybe we'll see each other around later.”  
  
Ned disappeared, but Jason and Elizabeth just remained where they were. After several quiet moments, he ventured, “still hungry?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“Do you still want to be here?”  
  
She cringed, and that was all the answer he needed, but, still, Elizabeth apologetically responded, “not really. I'm sorry, Jason, but I just....”  
  
“No. Don't worry. I get it. In fact, I feel the same way. Let's just... head back. We'll grab something to eat once we're back in Port Charles, and then we'll just go home.”  
  
“Lock ourselves away for at least a day. No phone. No computers. No Quartermaines. And, if anyone breaks in...”  
  
“I'll shoot them.” And he meant it.

 

* * *

 

“The No Name? Seriously? Isn't this like... some mob clubhouse? No non-gangsters allowed.”  
  
“Clubhouse?”  
  
“Well, I don't think they meet in tree forts, do you,” Elizabeth mock-whispered, glancing around them as they slowly walked towards what was probably Port Charles' most infamous eatery. “And I'm pretty sure Sonny Corinthos is this places' mascot. 'Like our food. Or not. But show up here not wearing an Italian suit or femme-bot facial expression, and you'll be fodder for our next Seafood Saturday Special.'”  
  
Really, there was so much that _his wife_ had just said there that begged for comment that Jason just didn't know where to start. So, instead, he just chuckled, let go of her hand to place his own palm against the small of her back, and quietly explained, “the goal is to not see any Q's, right? Well, I think Edward and the rest of them would rather eat their own shoes than be seen anywhere near this place.”  
  
“Oh, point taken,” Elizabeth complimented, grinning up at him.  
  
“Plus, The No Name's italian, right? That means tiramisu and cheesecake, two things that I know for a fact you will eat whether you're hungry or not.”  
  
As they stepped through the doors, someone was immediately at their side, respectfully asking for their dining preferences. The lighting was dim, and the buzz of what were no-doubt illicit conversations even softer. “Table or booth?”  
  
Just as Jason went to respond – booth, always a booth, he felt Elizabeth elbow him in the side and not so discreetly nod her head towards the far, back corner of the smoky restaurant. There, too intent upon his discussion with Port Charles' most famous mafia don, sat none other than the _other_ Quartermaine black-sheep bastard. “Nevermind,” he sighed, already moving to steer Elizabeth out of the establishment. But she dug in her heels, making him pause.  
  
“Wait,” she insisted, murmuring so only he could hear. “Maybe we should stay; maybe we should find out what Justus is up to.”  
  
“No good.”  
  
And, with that, they left, though Jason did toss one last glance at the conspiring duo. Sure, he didn't need to stick around to know that, whatever connection existed between Corinthos and Justus, it was trouble, but he did want another look just to solidify his own rapidly forming thoughts. The Quartermaine family lawyer being there had driven them from the restaurant, but his presence had also given Jason an idea. He wasn't sure if he'd ever really use it – whether he'd want to, let alone actually need to, but it was nice to have options. A Q or not, Justus, through inspiration, had just provided him with one.

 

* * *

 

With one of his arms tossed carelessly on the top of the bench behind where Elizabeth sat closely next to him, Jason simply watched _his wife_ gleefully savoring her chocolate-chocolate chip ice cream cone. Such a simple pleasure, yet she enjoyed it no less than she would have the decadent desserts at The No Name. Meanwhile, he had a cup of coffee. Not one for sweets, he'd leave them for Elizabeth. Besides, if nothing else managed to go wrong that evening, he'd soon be relishing the lingering taste of her chilled treat... just as soon as he got her back to the house they shared. For now, though, Jason would just enjoy a more simple joy – sitting beside Elizabeth on a bench, the two of them alone on the docks during an otherwise still and peaceful evening.  
  
“You know, I once almost rented a studio around here.”  
  
“When?”  
  
“Oh, it was years ago,” Elizabeth dismissed, waving her free hand while the other clutched tightly to her cone. Elaborating, she continued, “let's see... it was around the time that I was starting college, so I was probably just 18. Audrey was... well, her typical judgmental, pain-in-the-ass self. I remember her harping at me about wanting to study art, and all her complaining did was a.) make me want to paint more and b.) sap me of any of my inspiration. So, I guess that's another thing Audrey has in common with the Q's. They're both mood and muse killers.”  
  
He didn't want their conversation to return to the people he could, unfortunately, call family. Plus, Jason liked hearing about a younger Elizabeth and learning about what she was like before he met her. “So, why didn't you get it – the studio?”  
  
“No money, no lease,” she casually stated, shrugging. “Up until that point, my own work experience was volunteering at GH, one of the old bat's prerequisites to living in her hallowed Hardy home while I was in high school. So, I had no money of my own, no employable skills, and there was no way in hell Audrey would agree to front me the cash or simply rent the studio for me.”  
  
“Ah, so this is when I came into the picture, sucker that I was,” Jason laughed softly as he recalled the Elizabeth he had met when she applied to work at Jake's.  
  
“And, once I did finally get a job, that ship – a studio – had sailed. I had school expenses to pay for, bus fare to scrounge up, and brownies to buy and consume.”  
  
“And now?”  
  
“Now what,” she parroted.  
  
“Why not rent the studio now?”  
  
“Huh. I never really thought about it.”  
  
Jason chuckled. “Well, think about it. You were just saying that you haven't been painting recently. Maybe what you need is a place designated just for painting.”  
  
“Well... and for nap-time nookie sessions,” Elizabeth added, grinning cheekily.  
  
“I'm being serious.”  
  
“So am I.”  
  
“Elizabeth.”  
  
“Alright, alright,” she relented, settling further into his side. “I get what you're saying, but it's not a lack of a place to paint now; it's a lack of... time. Energy. Ambition. I could paint every damn wall of Audrey's beloved house now, and she couldn't do a damn thing about it. I could commander one of the upstairs rooms at Jake's and turn it into a studio, so I could paint while you worked instead of sitting downstairs at the bar and terrorizing you and/or drinking away all your profits. Hell, at this point, I could probably even convince you to let me paint a mural on Jake's back wall, but it'd probably just end up as a Quartermaine massacre scene at this point.”  
  
“I don't know. I think most of Jakes' patrons would appreciate such a painting.”  
  
She snorted in agreement. “No, what I'd love to do is just... quit. For the amount of hours I work, I don't make peanuts as Chloe's assistant, and, with the right help – especially now that we're splitting our living expenses, I don't think it'd take much to sell my painting online. I wouldn't become rich or famous, but I'd sure as hell be a lot happier than I am now.”  
  
“So, do it,” Jason encouraged her.  
  
“I couldn't,” she denied. When he just lowered his chin and gazed at her pointedly, she changed her tune. “Could I?”  
  
Before he could respond, however, there was a loud disturbance from one of the alleys that led onto the section of the docks where they were sitting. Without waiting to see who was there or what was going down, Jason quickly started to usher Elizabeth up the stairs in the opposite direction but not before he could hear the tell-tale sounds of flesh hitting flesh, of a skull being cracked against a brick wall, and a gun being cocked. “You pretty-boy rich sonsofbitches are all the same – think that you're untouchable, that you can bet, and bet, and bet, but, when it comes time to pay up, you're too good to settle your debts. Well, that's not going to fly anymore. So, when you actually manage to sober up and drag your loser ass home, this time your doctor daddy and loaded grandfather will be able to see what you've been up to. You've got 24 hours, _Junior_.”  
  
“Yeah, until what,” an unrepentant, cocky, self-sure, obviously drunk AJ taunted.  
  
“Until either you pay or I make you not so pretty anymore.”  
  
A body – AJ's – fell... or, more likely, was dropped, and then all was quiet once more. They still left, slipping away into the shadows. So much for date night.

 


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen**

**FNF #86. "In order to win you must be prepared to lose sometime. And leave one or two cards showing." _\- Van Morrison_ **

Her own traitorous body was proof that natural selection was hard at work. It wasn't even five minutes after she and Jason snuck out off the docks the night before her period started. Early. It was like, five minutes in the presence of a Q, and her uterus rebelled, making sure that she didn't get any funny ideas about babies. Not that she was going to anytime soon, and she certainly wasn't pregnant – thank you very much, Chloe, but the Quartermaines were enough to miscarry even an unthought of, non-conceived child. Or maybe those were just the vodka fumes AJ wafted wherever he went.  
  
Whatever the reason, there had been no sex in the guest room the night before, her bedding still sandy and unwashed. While she had offered to still fool around with Jason, he was either too noble (really, though, was any man too noble for a blow job?) or too turned off by her bloated, cramp-tastic self. So, they had simply gone to bed early for all the wrong reasons, and she had called off of work the next morning, not because she had a sex-hangover but because the Soviets had taken up temporary residence in her – and Jason's – funhouse. Stupid communism.  
  
Plucking a box of tampons off the shelf, Elizabeth dumped it into her basket, the wares inside a screaming, neon sign that she was on her period – junk food (all of the chocolate variety), midol, raspberry leaf tea, and tampons, a modern girl's guide to survival... five days out of the month. She was contemplating tossing in some panty-liners as well when probably the very last voice she wanted to hear suddenly accosted her. Since when did the Q's lower themselves to go grocery shopping? Did soulless demons even need to eat?  
  
“We need to talk.”  
  
Elizabeth sighed, grabbed the panty-liners, and tossed them into her basket. Doing so, she took her time, delaying the inevitable confrontation just that much longer. Finally, she couldn't avoid her assailant any longer, so she turned. With raised brow, she challenged, “do you really want to do this here, Monica? I mean, really. Hasn't your family had enough bad publicity already? And I can just see the headlines now about this latest attack: 'Scorned Quartermaine Wife Ridicules New Bastard Daughter-in-Law for _Not_ Carrying the Next Family Heir.'” She gasped mockingly. “What would Amy Vining say?”  
  
Monica narrowed her already humorless, cruel gaze. “What are you going on about?”  
  
She held up the tampons from her basket. “Bad news. You're not going to be a grandma. Yet.”  
  
“Very funny, Miss Webber.”  
  
“It's Mrs. Moore to you and the rest of your damn family, no matter what Edward may want.”  
  
“Well, my father-in-law is misguided. He's old, and it's no secret he has a heart condition. We're starting to worry, though, that he's also starting to lose touch with reality.” Before Elizabeth could offer a retort, the woman pressed on. “As for your unfortunate connection to Alan's son, I wouldn't get too comfortable, and, if you would happen to trap Jason before we can end your unfortunate union, then you can be damn sure that there will be a blood test.”  
  
She could have fired back, argued with every single one of Monica's points, but it just wasn't worth it. Not only would nothing she said really sink in anyway, but she was also just too damn cranky and sore. All she really wanted was to get the hell away from her monster-in-law, crawl into bed, and never leave. Sighing again – this time louder and more pointedly, she simply asked, “what do you want, Monica?”  
  
Her lack of interest in sparring seemed to knock some of the wind out of the older woman's sails. “I want to know what you're up to?”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“You heard me.”  
  
“Well, right now, I'm trying to buy some freaking tampons, but you already know that, seeing as how you obviously followed me here. What? Did you wait outside my house all day for me to go somewhere?” Knowing she wasn't going anywhere anytime soon and tired of holding her brimming basket, Elizabeth let it fall from her grasp, landing loudly on the tiled floor, not caring if the disturbance drew a crowd. Hell, a crowd would probably be preferable, because Monica would either back down or simply stick a shiv made out of lipstick in her and get their little confrontation over with, paying off any witnesses. “Reginald must have been busy breaking into somebody else's home today.”  
  
Monica bristled with annoyance and took another step closer to Elizabeth. “Just what exactly do you want from my family?”  
  
Tilting her head to the side, she silently observed the bottle blonde for several moments until realization slapped her in the face. “Oh, I get it.”  
  
“Get what?”  
  
Elizabeth snickered. Rolling back her shoulders in victory – maybe their confrontation wasn't over yet, but she'd already won, she pronounced, “you're afraid of me.”  
  
“Don't be ridiculous. You're way out of your league, little girl.”  
  
“Why? Because I'm a social climber – your words, not mine. Because I married up. Because I wasn't raised with a silver spoon in my mouth, so I don't take things for granted or squander opportunities when they come my way.”  
  
“You act like those are positive traits,” Monica scoffed.  
  
“And you act like you don't have those same qualities... or, at least, you did once upon a time before you got rich and comfortable by laying on your back long enough to give the Q's an heir. Too bad you couldn't even do that right, because AJ screwed the family pooch for you on that one, didn't he? Should have stayed put for a little while longer, Monica; you should have at least attempted to make it seem like you wanted to be a mother, like you weren't just securing your own future, had two kids, and doubled your chances of actually not having a louse for a son.”  
  
“Why you little...”  
  
The older woman went to slap her, but Elizabeth easily dodged the blow. “Put the claws away, kitty. The truth hurts – I know, but I'm just putting all our cards out on the table.”  
  
“Really? Because all it sounds like to me is you avoiding telling me what you're up to.”  
  
She rolled her eyes. “I thought we covered this. Vagina plugs, remember?”  
  
“Ugh,” Monica groaned, pivoting around on her old-lady, sensible heels and pacing away several feet before turning back around and asking, “what is your point exactly?”  
  
“My point is that I scare you because I am you... only with better hair and without an attraction to my uncle – thank god – and tennis instructors.”  
  
“Well, I've never been this... this flippant.”  
  
“You would be if you had been raised by Audrey Hardy. I had to deal with that old bat's sanctimonious judgment somehow.”  
  
“You do realize that you're disparaging against my best friend... and your own deceased grandmother.”  
  
“Trust me,” Elizabeth snarked, “your connection with Audrey was never more evident to me than it has been now for the past couple of months.”  
  
Monica narrowed her gaze. “And what exactly does that mean?”  
  
“Don't worry your petty, dyed head about it,” she cooed. “It's between me, my battleax of a dead grandmother... as you pointed out, and my husband.”  
  
“Ah, yes, _your husband_ ,” the monster-in-law jumped on Elizabeth's choice of words. “If you won't tell me what you want from my family, maybe you'll tell me why you married Jason in the first place, because I highly doubt it was for love.”  
  
She folded her arms over her chest and stared down the woman across from her. Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth could see people continuously approaching their aisle yet moving away as soon as they saw the too much-gossiped about in all the local papers women going head to head amongst the feminine hygiene products. It really was ridiculous – the entire scene.  
  
Finally, though, she answered, “how I feel about Jason is frankly none of your business.” And she sure as hell wasn't going to tell Monica anything before she told the man in question himself. “But I will tell you this much: I married Jason for many reasons – some of them selfish... as you suspect. After all, I never claimed to be some altruistic doormat. But mostly I married Jason to make sure that he'd get _everything_ .”  
  
“And that translates to what exactly?”  
  
“You really need a definition for everything,” Elizabeth mocked. “Everything means _everything_ . The house. The cars. The company. The bank accounts. The private jets. The family antiques and heirloom jewelry. The prestige. The notoriety. The name. I wanted Jason to have everything that your actions – and don't even try to deny that you played a role in Jason ending up in an orphanage for his entire childhood – denied him, everything that should have been his since the day he was born but wasn't because you were too much of a bitch, and your husband was too much of a coward.”  
  
Monica was fairly vibrating with fury, but she had also seemed to have latched onto one key thing that Elizabeth had said. “Wanted. You used wanted, not want. Don't tell me that, suddenly, none of those things matter to you anymore?”  
  
“You don't get it, do you,” she challenged. “None of those things ever mattered to me. Look at me,” she demanded, flinging her hands in the general direction of her old, paint-stained yoga pants, flip-flops, and yet another one of Jason's t-shirts she had commandeered for her own use. “Do I really look like someone who gives a rat's ass about money? It was never about having all those things for myself; it was about making sure that you and yours no longer had them after denying Jason for so many years. It was about you knowing why you lost everything and why he suddenly gained everything.”  
  
“Was, wanted. Everything you're saying is in the past tense.”  
  
“That's because I've changed my mind.”  
  
Monica snorted her refusal to believe what she had been told. “Really? And pray tell what is it that you want now? World domination, because that's probably the only thing not on that list yet.”  
  
Smiling beautifully, calmly, serenely, Elizabeth answered, “I want Jason, I want Jason to be happy, and I want Jason to have what _he_ wants. So, I'd be nice to him, _Mom_ , because your husband's long denied second born's next whim or fancy could destroy this life you've slept your way into having.” Leaning in, she whispered one last parting shot, “soon, it just might be Jason's house... and a lawsuit gave it to him.”


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Chapter Twenty**

**FNF #87: _The Kiss_ by Klimt **

“ _We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming and will return to it as soon as possible, but, first, an emergency press conference has been called by none other than Port Charles' own Edward Quartermaine, founder and current CEO of ELQ.”  
  
_ And, with that new bulletin, his streak of three days without the utterance of the name Quartermaine came to a screeching halt. Ignoring the television above him, Jason bent further over his accounting books, intent upon ignoring whatever it was Edward felt he needed to share with the world. Not only had he been enjoying his break from his newly discovered biological family... though he had to admit that it was probably too good to be true, but he really had no interest in watching the old man congratulate himself on making some more money or taking advantage of yet someone else. While he wouldn't go so far as to take the time to mute the TV – after all, Edward didn't even deserve that much of his time or attention, he certainly wasn't going to stop what he was doing and watch either. But then he heard his own name... or at least an unfortunate version of it.  
  
 _“... were the first to break the news of the long, lost family heir: Jason Quartermaine. As I stand outside of ELQ headquarters on Market Street... right here in downtown Port Charles, I can safely report that, despite the near gag-order which has been placed over all ELQ employees, Channel Four News has learned exclusively that today's press conference has been called to announce the Quartermaines' latest attempts to bring Mr. Jason Quartermaine, owner of Jake's Bar, into the family fold. According to a source who wishes to remain anonymous, Jason Quartermaine might just be the only person in this town who doesn't want a piece of the Quartermaine fortune. This same source claims that relations between Jason and his newly found family are extremely strained and that Edward Quartermaine is practically desperate to embrace this latest grandson.”  
  
_ It didn't matter that his mouth was hanging open like a landed fish, because Jason was alone... or, at least, he was alone with Elizabeth. As he heard his office door open, he didn't need to look over towards the entrance to know that his _wife_ had joined him. It was still early enough that the bar was closed, and the only other person who had a key and would let themselves into his private office was Elizabeth. Hell, she would have done so even before they were married, but that was just one more reason why he loved her.  
  
Feelings or no feelings, that didn't mean he was going to look away from the television. What he was watching was beyond a train wreck; it was the Challenger disaster of his life as he once knew it, only nothing that was about to come as a result of Edward's press conference would ever be over in 73 seconds. No, such a quick destruction didn't jive with the old man's perverse sense of torture. Add in the tapping of Elizabeth's shoe off to his left, and it was like his very own, personal countdown to annihilation. Sure, she didn't mean the gesture in such a way – it was born from boredom and impatience, and Elizabeth had no idea what was about to happen to him, to her, to them, but, still, it increased his tension and ratcheted up the room's sense of doom which was nearly crushing in its weight.  
  
Without even sparing Elizabeth a glance, he distractedly muttered, “ssshh!” He knew she wouldn't take well to such a command, but, frankly, in that moment, he didn't care.  
  
 _“... and, of course, there's AJ Quartermaine as well, Chief of Staff Alan Quartermaine and his wife Monica's only child. Given all the trouble he has been in over the years... not to mention the fact that he was discovered last weekend unconscious in one of Port Charles' most dangerous alleys – whether from the amount of alcohol in his system or from the beating he received prior to discovery is uncertain, but, nevertheless, it has been long known that Alan Junior would never be the Quartermaine family's choice to someday take over ELQ. While Jason Quartermaine is not the first heir born on the wrong side of the blanket to come out of the woodwork over the years, he is the first that Edward Quartermaine has embraced so publicly.”  
  
_ The screen flashed away from the reporter to present a series of pictures. The only person Jason recognized was Justus, but he assumed, judging by the family resemblance, that the others shown were the lawyer's family, other illegitimate Quartermaines. But then the screen was obscured. Elizabeth, apparently tired of him ignoring her, had climbed on top of his desk. He tried to simply glance around her, but she had positioned herself just so in front of the TV so that any such efforts were useless. Rather than the special report, all he could see were his _wife's_ legs – her very naked legs. Usually such a sign would be welcome but not when the weight of his trepidation was weighing down on his chest, making it harder and harder to breathe.  
  
“Could you just... I can't... Damn it, move, Elizabeth.”  
  
Really, he didn't mean to be so harsh and rude towards her. It just sort of... happened. Jason expected to get kicked for being an asshole, and he knew she'd berate him until his ears hurt (and he'd deserve it), but, instead, Elizabeth did nothing but climb off his desk. He could sense her moving around him to stand behind his chair, but the television screen was clear once again, so he didn't bother following her movements. Rather, he zeroed right back in on what the reporter was saying.  
  
 _“...only a distant cousin of Lila Morgan, it was rumored, if ever Chloe Morgan were to marry someone of Edward's approval, that her future husband would potentially be in the running to inherit ELQ. However, knowing that Miss Morgan is dating Jasper Jax, a business rival of Edward Quartermaine's, this news of yet another grandson has certainly come at the most opportune of times for the family's patriarch.”  
  
_ He felt rather than saw Elizabeth come to kneel in front of him, but Jason's eyes were glued to the TV. Mid-sentence, the camera left the reporter's face to zero in on the wall of front doors at ELQ Headquarters, the tinted glass revolving to let loose not only Edward but what looked to be all of his senior VP's and the entire ELQ board upon the stage set up on the front steps. Every newsman and newswoman from television, print, and radio within a few hundred miles radius looked to be there. In the back of his mind, Jason felt Elizabeth's hands come to rest high on his thighs. As the flashbulbs went off and the crowd settled down to listen to whatever it was Edward had to say, his wife's nimble fingers slowly worked their way north. For what felt like an eternity, he held his breath, and then the screen went dark.  
  
“What,” he barked in surprise, in irritation, attempting to sit up straight only to be pushed back down in a semi-reclined position against the supple, worn leather of his desk chair. Before Jason could comprehend anything else, though, Elizabeth was there – on him, around him, practically crawling inside of him. His lashes fluttered in ecstasy before clamping shut entirely – the pleasure too great, but not before he realized that, in his distraction, Elizabeth had stripped down to nothing... well, besides her ridiculously sexy heels, unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his pants, reached inside, grabbed ahold of him tightly, and then impaled herself upon his length. While he regretted not being aware of the measures she took to get him ready for such an attack, he also knew that it wouldn't have taken much on her part. Since the night she had gone skinny-dipping and they had started sharing a bed together, he had been going around half aroused nearly constantly.  
  
Deciding to tease her, he quipped, “I was watching that, you know.” But his arms were wrapped around her, his hands nearly possessed as he tried to touch every glorious, bare inch of her petal soft skin, and the corners of his mouth tilted upwards in a cocky, pleased grin.  
  
Elizabeth's response – the words harsh and guttural in her desire and concentration – only threw more fuel on the flames of need licking through his veins. “Shut up.”  
  
So, he did. Jason stopped talking and, instead, put his mouth to better use. He bit her. He leaned forward, opened his mouth, and, now looking at the magnificent sight before him, latched onto a bouncing breast, nipping Elizabeth hard enough to hurt but soft enough so that the pain was pleasurable. It was fast, it was fiery, and it was frenzied, and, before Jason knew it, he was thrusting his hips upwards one last time, his orgasm triggering _his wife's_.  
  
He was still sitting there, slumped back in spent exhaustion and exhilaration when Elizabeth's touch roused him slightly, his eyes opening to see her re-entering the room with two warm, wet towels and two dry. Quietly, they went about separately cleaning themselves up. While he would have liked nothing better than to pick her up, sling her over his shoulder, and carry her upstairs to one of the rooms above the bar, barring the door for the rest of the night and who knows how many others to come, Jason also knew that Elizabeth had to get back to work, and he had to figure out what the hell Edward was up to now.  
  
Wiped off and back in his pants once again, Jason glanced up only to glower. “What the hell are you wearing?” Elizabeth's dress was sleeveless and to her knees... if you counted the sheer fabric that stretched from the tops of her breasts to her neck and then curved down from her hips to the bottom of the hem. Nothing was overtly exposed, but it was certainly hinted at.  
  
“Oh, this is Chloe's idea of subtlety.” Apparently, his expression was question enough, because Elizabeth explained, “she conveniently had me try this on right before lunch and then disappeared... along with my real clothes. So, I thought 'what the hell.' If she really wants me to, I'll take advantage of this dress and come pay you a little visit for lunch, especially since Chloe claims that it's our relationship which has inspired this new collection.”  
  
“I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult.” Elizabeth merely shrugged in response. “Before Chloe disappeared, did she happen to mention what Edward was up to today?”  
  
“No. Why?”  
  
“He called a press conference.”  
  
“Oh. That,” Elizabeth smirked before sauntering offer to sit pertly in his lap.  
  
Jason narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “What did you do?”  
  
“Did I forget to tell you that, instead of paying you a visit yesterday during lunch, I went and saw Diane Miller?” The question was rhetorical, so he didn't say anything, instead leaning back in order to brace himself for whatever it was his wife was about to say. He should have known their seemingly wordless agreement to ignore the Q's for the past three days was too good to be true. “I knew that Edward was up to something, and, when Diane got word of the press conference being scheduled, we had a little powwow to plan.”  
  
“And...?”  
  
Wiggling her eyebrows, she said, “well, while we were....”  
  
He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “I know _exactly_ what we were doing, Elizabeth. Just get to the point. Please.”  
  
“Like I was saying, while we were showing each other a little... consideration, Edward was also being compassionate... or, at least, as compassionate as that self-serving goat can be. He announced this brick shit-ton worth of charity endeavors today in your name – scholarships, donations in perpetuity to the orphanage you grew up in, new programs at GH, Mercy, and all the free clinics to help unwed mothers. You name it, he threw his dirty money at it.”  
  
“And what exactly was your and Diane Miller's roles in all of this?”  
  
“We just made sure that, no matter what happens in the future – after all, it's a wacky world out there, Moore, this aid will never disappear or dry up.”  
  
Smirking, he wondered, “how did you do that?”  
  
“Oh, Diane goaded the old fart into it. She knows all about all the bad press the Q's have been getting lately. After all, she caused most if not all of it. So, she played on Edward's fear of the public turning against him. She asked what would happen to all the pesos for the poor if Edward's sudden goodwill towards you went adios, knowing full well that Eddie and everyone else there knew, if he didn't promise that the cash was strings unattached, the Port Chuckles' media would lynch his ass.”  
  
For that – for making sure that there was a contingency in place just in case something went wrong or some _ones_ went away, Jason decided his wife deserved a reward. Standing quickly, his hands stole around her waist before Elizabeth could react. He deposited her on top of his desk, papers and books be damned, and leaned into her, over her, grinning wolfishly. “You know, I don't think we've thanked Chloe properly for that dress. Yet.”  
  
Screw the rooms upstairs; he had a perfectly good office with a perfectly good lock on the door... even if it wasn't engaged.

 


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Only two left, folks.
> 
> ~Charlynn~

**Chapter Twenty One**   
  
**FNF #88: “I'm not strong enough to stay away. What can I do? I would die without you. In your presence, my heart knows no shame. I'm not to blame. Cause you bring my heart to its knees.” ~ _“Not Strong Enough” by Apocalyptica_**

It was hotter than the crispy-fried insides of a Quartermaine Thanksgiving turkey, and the last place Elizabeth wanted to be was outside. To make matters worse, she was in the Port Charles park. One would think that all the stupid natury stuff surrounding her would make the heat more bearable, but it didn't. The fact that the trees weren't moving at all mocked her, because, in that moment, she should have been on the back of Jason's bike, the sparkly – hey, it wasn't her fault if her husband shined his damn motorcycle so much that it twinkled like polished silver – machine capable of creating the breeze the elms, oaks, and maples surrounding her refused to. The shrubs felt too big, too close to the sidewalks as if encroaching upon her walking space, and don't even get her started on the bugs. They made the already heavy air heavier, almost making Elizabeth wish she had worn a pair of stilettos so that the pointed toes could cut through the swampy atmosphere, making a path for her.  
  
Almost.  
  
But stilettos would have meant enclosing the rest of her feet, not to mention the fact that they would have made her look desperate. And that so wasn't the look she was going for that evening. Somehow, she had managed to make herself appear casually sexy – comfortable enough for Jason to believe that she wasn't up to something when they were just supposed to be meeting up for dinner but also alluring enough to be up to something without him suspecting it. Luckily, the something she was up to with the someone she was up to it with was easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy. Hell, a virginal lesbian could probably handle it with just enough skin, and Port Charles that summer was just too damn hot to wear any more clothes than necessary.  
  
And people said global warming wasn't real. Hah! Even her right-wing, conservative-loving, gas-guzzling, boat driving old bat of a grandmother would have had to admit all those weathermen sprouting off about el nino were el-righto considering that Hades had relocated its roost to their little water-side dump of a town, may Audrey spin butter she was churning in her milky clouds so much as she observed Elizabeth in all her married-sex-is-awesome-especially-all-over-her-grandmother's-house-glory. Sweltering or not, it was worth it to let Jason heat her up all over again as soon as she managed to cool off. Besides, what else was she going to do with Audrey's _two_ freezers besides stock them with ice cream, booze, and ice cubes and leave the doors open while she and Jason practiced their balance?  
  
Snickering to herself, Elizabeth rounded another corner as she wound deeper and deeper into the Port Charles park. If it wasn't in front of the freezers, then she and Jason were having sex in _their_ creek. They took almost nightly rides on his bike to cool off, only for Elizabeth to warm him back up as they trekked down to the very spot where her husband had first seen her naked. Or, more accurately, he trekked, and she took a ride on his back, her legs and arms wrapped tightly around him. He worked up a sweat, and she got all hot and sticky by contact, not to mention thinking about how exactly she would reward him once they reached their destination.  
  
Really, it was the one thing she was going to miss – that spot, _their spot_ – if the something she was up to that evening went off without a hitch, and, really, how could it not? For the first time since Elizabeth had hatched their hair-brained scheme to swindle all of the Q's money away from them, she was really thinking out her actions. She wasn't scheming first and asking questions later; she was, instead, mapping out every contingency, really laying the groundwork this time so that nothing went wrong. If nothing else could be said about her not-so-brilliant idea to reveal to Port Charles and all the rest of the world that the Quartermaines were the proud new parents of a bouncing, buff beefcake of an adult son, then at least Elizabeth had learned to use a little caution.  
  
Both in _and_ out of the bedroom.  
  
Basically, this time, she wasn't thinking with her bank account; she was thinking with her sanity. And her heart. And her libido. The Quartermaines weren't good for any of those latter three things, and Elizabeth was bound and determined to rectify her mistakes.  
  
“Hm,” she snorted, rolling her eyes. “Rectify.”  
  
Of all the words she could have used, rectify was probably the best. Everything she was doing that evening, it was all to rectify that which her pain in the ass grandmother had set in motion all those years ago by accepting the letter from Jason's mother. Ass, rectum, rectify, there really was a direct correlation that led smack dab back to Audrey. Really, everything was always that old witch's fault. For someone who was supposed to be so smart – and, really, her grandmother had tooted that horn enough so that Elizabeth had firmly believed that all nurses were geniuses well into her elementary school years, Audrey had been dumber than a stripper – a blonde stripper. Named Daisy. Everybody knew that deathbed confessions were dangerous and should either be disregarded or, in a letter's case, burnt immediately upon reception. And, if someone was stupid enough to actually hold onto such a thing, then they never should be left in the open (or hidden away in an office) for a curious, inquisitive, bitter, debt-ridden granddaughter to find upon one stupid dumbass' death.  
  
“I mean, seriously: Audrey should have known!”  
  
“Known what?”  
  
Thank goodness she had on a brand new pair of flipflops – was it her fault that it was so hot out that her feet got sweaty and, after a few weeks, her sandals started to stink, so she just constantly bought new ones? If she hadn't, Elizabeth knew that she wouldn't have been able to pull off her ballerina-esque pirouette, and the very last person she ever wanted to fall on her ass in front of was the jackoff now standing before her. How he had managed to sneak up on her...?  
  
Taking a step backwards and narrowing her gaze suspiciously, she demanded to know, “have you been following me?”  
  
“Now, why would I do that?”  
  
So, basically, yes, the sleezebag _had_ been following her. A denial would have been too obviously an admission, an admission would have been too obvious even for a drunk, but a question to answer a question – especially when uttered in such an oily, skeezy way – was exactly the tactic a Quartermaine would pull in such a situation.  
  
Narrowing her gaze, Elizabeth fisted her hands on her jean shorts clad hips. “What do you want, AJ?”  
  
He held out his arm, offering it to her as he also suggested, “take a walk with me, and I'll explain.” Ha! Like she'd ever voluntarily touch the douchebag standing in front of her. As for taking a walk with him...? Well, she might consider that if she'd have a chance to push him into a river full of pirhanas, but Port Charles was fresh out of the flesh eating fish... which was just her luck. When she only glared further, he dropped his arm. “You know, if I wasn't such a confident guy, Elizabeth, I'd think that you didn't like me.”  
  
“Confident, huh? So is that why you try to drink your Aunt Tracy's weight every night?”  
  
Whereas she was aiming to piss AJ off so that he would stomp away – far, far away from her – to pout somewhere, no doubt while hugging some cheap bottle of booze, all her insult managed to do was make him take several more steps towards her. “You know, if I were you, I'd be a little bit nicer to me.”  
  
“If you were me, you wouldn't be such a prick, or I would have offed you a long time ago out of world-preservation.”  
  
While he was starting to make her nervous as he continually stalked closer and closer to her, Elizabeth wouldn't back down from AJ; she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Instead, she just tilted her chin up into an even more stubborn angle and hoped that she'd eventually hit her mark and make him want to go off and cry in his vodka.  
  
AJ chuckled. “You have a smart mouth, _Liz_. Frankly, I'd think my newfound brother would have taught you to keep it shut a long time ago... well, unless it was otherwise engaged.”  
  
Normally, such a misogynistic comment would have riled her up even further, and she would have fired back another insult in AJ's direction, but this wasn't just his typical, drunken, loutish behavior highlighting all his horrible Quartermaine traits; rather, there was something downright sinister about AJ that evening, something menacing, and, if she wasn't mistaken, her brother-in-law wasn't actually drunk like he usually was. Instead, he was stone-cold sober, and that's what suddenly scared her the most.  
  
“Well, I see I've got your attention. What, cat got your tongue, Lizzie; nothing to say now? Or maybe you're intrigued? Maybe my brother just doesn't know how to treat a little whore like you. Maybe you're realizing why settle for the bastard when you can have the real thing. Hell, both. After all, once a slut, always a...”  
  
Suddenly, she couldn't scramble away from AJ fast enough. “I think... you should go, and I'm... I, uh... Jason.” She couldn't finish her thought. Her mouth was too dry, her throat too tight with fear. Elizabeth didn't care if he knew that she was scared; she didn't care if he saw how intimidated and small he was making her feel. Even if those were exactly the reactions his little performance was intended to create, there was also a sick note of sincerity to his tone. It was almost as though he had been watching her, waiting, biding his time until she was in just the right place to do the absolutely worst thing he could possibly do to her.  
  
“Or, better yet, perhaps its just the park. What is it about this place, Lizzie, that gets you so hot and bothered, that makes you want to spread your legs for every and any man that comes up behind you?”  
  
She whimpered. Eyes wide with fright, skin cold and clammy, Elizabeth was frozen. She couldn't call out for help, she couldn't scream, and she had scrambled as far away from AJ as she possibly could, her back up against a tree as her fingernails broke and split when she dug them into its dry bark. She wasn't fifteen any more. She wasn't some scared girl who didn't know any better. She was smarter now, always more aware of her surroundings. She'd taken self-defense classes, and she carried mace in her purse. Despite everything she had been through and survived, she didn't live her life in constant fear, but, yet, here she was again – older, wiser, and just as damn vulnerable as she had been on that cold Valentine's Day night, sitting in the snow on a cold, stone bench, wearing a red dress and the last innocent tears she'd ever shed. This was never supposed to happen to her – not again.  
  
“Uh, Mrs. Moore,” a timid voice said her name.  
  
And, just like that, she could feel the night's heat once again, she swallowed her fear, and AJ disappeared.  
  
“Are you... should I call someone – Mr. Moore, the police?”  
  
“No, no, I'm alright,” she said shakily, stepping away from the tree. Brushing her hands off, Elizabeth realized that they were scraped and bleeding, but she'd survive. She'd had much worse in the past, and, if it wasn't for the boy standing in front her, she would have had much worse again. Meeting his worried gaze, she tried to reassure him with a shaky grin, but she was sure the gesture was actually closer to a grimace. With tears in her eyes, she admitted, “at least, I will be. Eventually.”  
  
“Would you like to reschedule?”  
  
“No, if nothing else, what happened here tonight... what almost happened here tonight... just makes me that much more sure about what I have to do. About what I hope you'll help me do.”  
  
“I must admit that I was quite intrigued by your message, but, frankly, I'm also extremely baffled as to how I, a lowly lab tech/computer science major, could ever be of assistance to you, especially now.”  
  
“And I don't know how the hell I'm going to get you to help me now,” Elizabeth confessed, sighing loudly and shrugging her shoulders. “Before, my plan was to flash you a little boobage in exchange for your services, but you just saved my sanity and my husband's freedom. I'm already in your debt, and I haven't even asked you for anything yet.”  
  
“If what you need my assistance with has anything to do with taking down such a... well, such a...”  
  
“Bastard,” she supplied helpfully.  
  
“... such a bastard,” the someone she was hoping would soon be up to something with her repeated, “then it would be my pleasure to be at your service. And, uh, no boobage required,” he added with a blush far deeper than even the most far-sighted old lady's.  
  
“Really?” Elizabeth couldn't contain her gratitude from raising the tone of her voice.  
  
The floppy-haired boy held out a soft, sweaty palm in her direction. “You have yourself a deal. Damien Spinelli – AKA the Jackal – is at your humble service, my fair Mrs. Moore.”


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

****Chapter Twenty-Two** **

****FNF#89: “If you are going through hell, keep going.” ~ Winston Churchill** **

“Name, please.”  
  
He wasn't even inside yet, and, already, Jason was having to jump through hoops. In a marble vestibule between two sets of doors, a man, in what he knew was an expensive suit but one that looked cheap nonetheless because not one but several semi-automatic handguns ruined the three piece's lines, stopped him, a clipboard in hand. The guard – because there was no way a doorman needed that much weaponry – also wore an ear-com and carried a walkie-talkie... and all that wasn't taking into account whatever else there was stashed behind the counter, of which he had no doubt, combined, made up a veritable arsenal.  
  
“Jason Moore. I'm here to see...”  
  
“Mr. Corinthos. Of course. Your eight o'clock meeting...”  
  
“... appointment,” Jason interrupted in turn. After all, two could play that game, and he didn't like the idea of anyone in Sonny's organization thinking that he and Port Charles' don were taking meetings together.  
  
“... is listed right here. If you'll just please sign the log, then I'll buzz you right in.” **  
  
**He did so without comment or complaint, but Jason found it both amusing and alarming that the town's organized crime boss' building rules resembled those employed during prison visitation. And, for that matter, did every single person who entered this building have to go through a similar procedure? While he was coming there to talk with Sonny, Harborview Towers was a highrise, luxury apartment building with dozens of floors and tens of dozens of apartments, condos, and penthouses. Surely Sonny's tenants didn't allow their friends and family members to be put through such _welcomes_.  
  
Then again.... As he moved into the building's equally as lavish lobby, Jason started to wonder just how many people actually lived in the Towers that weren't somehow, someway related to Sonny's business. Already, after the whole process of getting clearance to park in the underground garage, he had been at the residence for more than ten minutes, and he had yet to see someone enter or exit who wasn't his pal Paul – from the vestibule’s – twin in dress, manner, and sunglasses at night. While the lobby was tricked out like any other apartment building's, including a mail room, a concierge desk, and decadent lounge areas complete with floral arrangements taller than he was and the latest in electronics, there wasn't a single person there utilizing the amazing amenities. But, perhaps, they were stuck in visiting limbo like he was, somewhere further along in the seven levels of clearance hell.  
  
Jason was surprised that he was allowed to even press the elevator's up button before yet another guard pulled him aside. “Mr. Moore, if you would please step this way first, sir. It will only take a moment.”  
  
A moment turned out to be a complete metal detector scan somewhere off in a small, windowless office. While a guard checked him for guns, knives, and explosives... or so he assumed, there was another positioned at a desk, his gaze almost unblinking as he watched more monitors than any sane, non-paranoid, or non-mobbed up person would require. If a life of crime didn't kill the silent observer, then blindness and migraines surely would.  
  
“Thank you,” Jason's _escort_ brought him back to the present as he was ushered once more towards the elevators. There, one set of doors were waiting open for him... or, apparently, for them as, when Jason stepped on board, so, too, did his shadow. “I will ride with you up to the thirty-fourth floor. At that point, you'll exit this elevator and board a private one which will take you to the thirty-sixth floor, Mr. Corinthos' private floor.” **  
  
**He nodded in assent... not that his agreement was really required by the guard, and then the two of them fell silent, the only sound coming from the spacious cart, the bell that alerted them to every floor they approached and then quickly passed. As they rode, Jason thought. Although it went unsaid, he assumed that the thirty-fifth floor was left empty as a buffer between Sonny's home and the rest of the building's tenants. It was quite the extravagance but not when considering every other precaution obviously taken to keep the crime lord safe. It was also a lifestyle that he couldn't imagine living – so stifling and rigid.  
  
True to the unnamed man beside him's word, the doors before them opened as they stopped at the thirty-fourth floor. Already waiting there was yet another guard. This man said nothing to him, knowing that those before him had prepared Jason for what was coming next and had conditioned him to expect no explanations or communication. Dutifully, Jason followed him onto yet another elevator – this one larger and even more ritzy than the last. It was obvious that it was Sonny's personal elevator, one that, though Jason didn't ride it all the way from the ground floor up, was capable of traveling the entire distance of the building. Hell, it probably went further down into some secret level that the main, common elevator didn't have access to. It was also operated by a key, one that it didn't take a rocket scientist to know very few possessed the clearance to even know about.  
  
“Exit the elevator, spread your legs, put your arms up and your hands behind your head.”  
  
There was no please, no smile to soften the order. Not that Jason expected such pleasantries, but, at this point, these security measures were getting slightly more than just ridiculous. While he understood that Sonny was a very rich, very powerful, and very despised man, he was also obviously very vain and pompous as well. To believe himself to be so important as to require such excessive protection....  
  
“Hey, watch it,” Jason barked, caught off guard by just how thorough he was currently being searched. While he liked to think of himself as a secure enough guy, nobody, besides Elizabeth, needed to know that much about him. If he didn't need to meet with Sonny as much as he did, there was no way that he would put up with such treatment.  
  
“Just doing my job,” the guard stated unequivocally, no apology either on his lips or in his hardened gaze. “You're clean, though. Go stand by the door, and Mr. O'Brien will announce you... when it's time.” ****  
  
Jason did as he was directed, casually glancing down at his watch once he came to a standstill next to the humorless, suited, and packing Mr. O'Brien. It was already ten after seven, thanks to all of the security measures he had been put through, and he was supposed to be meeting Elizabeth for dinner at eight o'clock. When he had scheduled his _visit_ with Sonny, he had presumed that 45 minutes was beyond generous. Really, how long did it take to talk about a simple business deal? Foreign to what exactly the mob life entailed, however, such an assumption had been naïve, apparently. And now he was doubting everything about that night.   
  
Should he have worn a suit? Besides the one he had gotten married in, Jason wasn't even sure if he owned a suit that would fit him. Should he have prepared a formal proposal for Sonny with spreadsheets, projections, and everything else a man like Jax would have readily available when he went into a meeting? He had just thought that things were done differently in Sonny's world, but then what the hell did he know about organized crime besides what he read about in the papers? With all the close calls from attempts on Sonny's life in the past, Jason had never expected....  
  
“Mr. Corinthos will see you now,” the man beside him – Mr. O'Brien, a surprisingly softly spoken guy for such a dangerous job – told him, breaking Jason from his thoughts as he ushered him into a dark and richly appointed great room.  
  
The lights were dim, the room practically illuminated by the setting sun's rays shining through what was no-doubt bullet proof glass and a roaring fire. Why someone would light a fire when it was hotter than hell outside, Jason didn't get. Not that he particularly cared either. He just found it to be yet something else strange about his visit and the place Sonny Corinthos called home.  
  
The man in question himself was sitting in a wide, club chair, his back turned towards Jason and a half-full tumbler of bourbon held loosely in his grasp. As no further instructions were given, he moved deeper into the room, coming to stand in front of a large sectional and across from Sonny. Before addressing him, the don lifted his cut glass to his lips, drained the heavy liquor, and then stood.  
  
“Mr. Moore. I'd say that it's a surprise to see you in my home, but then I'd just be lying, and, really, that's no way to start off a business meeting.” Dimples flashing, Sonny then made his way towards his well-stocked wet bar. “May I offer you a drink?”  
  
“No thanks.” And he certainly wasn't going to correct the don's statement about his visit being a meeting either. While it was one thing to be a smart-ass with a guard, it was a different matter to piss off the man he needed a favor from.  
  
The other man chuckled, but he surprisingly didn't press. “More for me then.” Retaking his seat, Sonny motioned for Jason to do the same. “So, I'm assuming this has something to do with the recent revelations that you're a long-lost Quartermaine heir.”  
  
While he couldn't deny the statement, he also wasn't going to confirm it either. “Would you have agreed to talk with me otherwise?”  
  
Sonny chuckled. “Touche, Mr. Moore.” After pausing to take a drink, the older man asked, “what exactly do you want from me? I mean, that is why you're here, correct?” Jason didn't answer him. Instead, he folded his hands together, his eyes staring at his fingers as he wrung them together. “You want something, and I'm the only person in a position to give it to you.”  
  
Silence fell between them. While Jason composed himself, he listened to the sounds of Sonny's ice cubes swirling and settling, settling and swirling as the mob boss continually sipped from his drink. Finally, he decided to just go with the simplest of answers: the truth. Meeting Sonny's hardened yet curious gaze, he admitted, “I want out.”  
  
“Normally, when men come to me and say those words, it means one of two things: they've betrayed me or they're about to betray me. Luckily for the both of us,” the don stated, standing up and moving so that he was leaning over the back of his chair, his elbows sinking into the plush fabric. “You're not from my world.”


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

****Chapter Twenty-Three** **

****FNF#90: “What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly.”** **

Her husband was such a... such a... such a goddamned turd muncher.  
  
There, she said it.  
  
A turd muncher.  
  
And he deserved far worse, but she would reserve those _terms of endearment_ for when they weren't in paradise. The fact that, on what was at least for her a surprise whim, Jason had swept her off to Italy for a week was the only thing her spouse had going for him. At least Italy had museums, churches, and the light to keep her distracted from the fact that, six days into what Elizabeth guessed was her belated honeymoon, she had yet to sleep with her husband. Or make out with. Hell, he hadn't even attempted to fondle her boobs, and she had most definitely been making them available for him to fondle.  
  
His lack of interest in her body would be sweet if her uterus was staging its own reenactment of Stalin invading Italy, but it wasn't. And it would have been the gentlemanly thing to do if he was aware of the fact that his asshole of a biological half brother had come a nerd away from attacking her, but he wasn't. Hell, who was she kidding? No matter what the circumstances behind her husband's no look-no touch honeymoon motto, he was pissing her the hell off.  
  
Hence, he was a turd muncher.  
  
But it wasn't just the fact that they had yet to have sex since he had whisked her off on what should have been the most romantic week-long getaway of her life... not that anyone else had ever taken her even on a weekend getaway to a fleabag motel the next town over before, but that was an entirely different matter. No, what's more was that Jason was being a grumpy jerk-face, a real chip off the old Quartermaine block. Maybe it had something to do with his blue blood finally getting back on the continent; his inner snob douchebag was re-emerging. While that explanation seemed implausible and, really, quite unfair given that he loathed pretentious bastards even more than she did, Elizabeth just couldn't come up with any other explanation.  
  
But enough was enough. If her husband wouldn't talk to her on his own initiative, then she'd just have to make him open his mouth... and for more than just to give her that toe-curling kiss she'd always wanted to experience on a gondola. To make matters worse, not only was he refusing to tell her what had crawled up his butt as soon as they had landed in Italy – she hoped it was a scorpion, but he refused to listen to her as well. And she really needed to tell him about Spinelli, and operation boobage for blackmail, and why he hadn't been able to find his toothbrush or razor or comb when they quickly packed before heading to the airport almost a week prior... and she needed to do so _before_ they once again became Port Chucklians.  
  
Luckily, Elizabeth had a plan.  
  
(Didn't she always?)  
  
If Italian sex (and answers) wouldn't come to her, then she'd come to the Italian sex... or at least the part of her husband's anatomy that she needed to cooperate to give her the Italian sex she wanted so much.  
  
So, that's why Elizabeth was naked at the ungodly hour of 5:30 in the morning... and, no, that wasn't Port Charles' time. That's why she was naked. That's why her husband was hanging out of his sweatpants in all his... morning glory. That's why she had hid their cell phones and thrown the hotel room's phone out into the hallway. And that's why there was a 'Disturb and Die' sign hanging from their door. She made it herself.  
  
Jason was a light sleeper, so she was surprised that she had been able to get them as far into her plan as she had without her husband waking up, but that might have had something to do with the fact that, along with being a jerkface their entire trip _and_ not having sex with her, Jason had also barely been sleeping, tossing and turning all night long to the point where he had _almost_ kept her awake as well. The only reason why their marriage had survived the past six days was because Elizabeth _wasn't_ a light sleeper.  
  
Deciding to pick herself an... _Italian bouquet_ , Elizabeth took both her husband and the situation in hand. Squeezing softly – after all, they were just getting started; she needed to slowly build up the... anticipation, she leaned forward, whispered, “wake up, Jason,” and then bit her husband's earlobe. Hard.  
  
He sat up so quickly, he almost knocked her out of his lap. Good thing she was holding on tight... for purchase and safety, of course. “Ow, Elizabeth! What the hell?!”  
  
“You're going to have sex with me.” She jumped immediately into her prepared explanation.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You're going to have sex with me,” she repeated. Squeezing him, a little harder this time, Elizabeth nodded down towards her husband's lap. “See, you already want to even if you didn't... don't?... know it.” Jason snorted. She took that for an admission. For a third time, she said, “you're going to have sex with me, and then you're going to feel like a royal ass, because, whatever it is that has been bothering you for the past week has made you look guiltier than... well, me after I sort of, maybe, might have gouged your pool table at Jake's while trying to twirl the cues like batons a few years ago.”  
  
“I knew that was you,” Jason exclaimed.  
  
She ignored him. “Anyway, you'll have sex with me, and, because you'll do so after not talking to me the entire time we've been in Italy, that will be the last push you'll need to feel guilty enough to finally tell me what the hell is wrong with you. Now,” she ordered, squirming in his lap as she moved to sit up on her knees, needing the leverage so she could move onto step two of her plan.  
  
Or was that phase b?  
  
Bottom lip caught between her teeth and eye on the prize, Elizabeth was startled out of her concentration when she felt her husband lift her by the waist and deposit her further down his legs and he fully sat up, leaning against their headboard, as if she was no more than a nuisance, an extra pillow he hadn't yet kicked off the bed.  
  
The stupid (okay... smart, because, if he had struggled to lift her at all, she would have punched him. And then cried.), strong bastard.  
  
She was just about to curse him out and protest the fact that he had pressed the pause button on her plan when Jason spit out, “I sold your grandmother's house.”  
  
Now, she was really confused. They were just about to _finally_ have sex, and Jason was talking about... “Huh?”  
  
“Your grandmother – you know, the ancient, judgmental bat. Audrey.” Before he could continue, she slapped a hand over his mouth, but Jason just talked around her fingers. “I sold her house. Your house. Our house.”  
  
“Ssh! I'm naked.”  
  
“I can see that.” Still talking around her perpetually paint-stained digits.  
  
“And I'm trying to have sex with you.”  
  
“If that's what you want to call this.”  
  
At that, she just glowered. “For all that is holy in this world and if you ever want me to have sex with you again, you'll promise me here and now that you'll never bring up that evil, evil woman again while we're in bed together. Or on a couch. Or against a wall. Or in a shower. Bathtub. Or in or on any bathroom surface. Or anything wet for that matter. Or up against a freezer and/or fridge. Or on a staircase. Or in a chair. Or on top of a desk. Or on the...”  
  
“Alright, Elizabeth, I think I get the picture, but that still doesn't change the fact that I sold your... that I sold the house in Port Charles that we used to live in.”  
  
“Where are my clothes and art supplies?”  
  
She could see the confusion come across his features at her lack of concern. “Uh, in storage.”  
  
Elizabeth shrugged. “Okay.”  
  
“Okay?”  
  
“Yeah, well, weren't we always going to sell the old harpy's house?” Maybe Jason couldn't bring up her grandmother while she was naked and wanting to have sex with him, but it was always permissible for Elizabeth to insult her.  
  
“I... guess.”  
  
Suddenly annoyed again, she pinched him. On the chest. (Okay, so she totally pinched his nipple.) Before he could whine – again, she accused, “so, this is why you've been acting like you've been on your man period all week?”  
  
Jason grimaced, but he also chose not to question her description of his behavior. (See, a stupid – smart – bastard.) “I also sold the bar.”  
  
This time, Elizabeth deflated. Immediately sad, she asked, “really, you sold Jake's? Why?” Before he could answer, she pressed, “Jason, what's going on?”  
  
“Well, you like it here, right?”  
  
“Uh, duh.”  
  
“And you've never really liked living in Port Charles.”  
  
“Yeah, but I love your bar. Jake's is where you balanced my checkbook for me, where I used to pick up guys, where I deflowered you.”  
  
He frowned at her. “Deflowered. Really?” Before she could pinch his other nipple, he caught her hand in his, spread open her palm, and laced their fingers together. “I was kind of hoping that, maybe, you wouldn't want to go back to Port Charles.”  
  
“For a while?”  
  
“Um... for like... ever again.” Once more, he kept talking before she could answer. “Look, I know you're going to tell me that we have 780 million reasons why we should go back, but...”  
  
“I used boobage to bribe a geek into changing the paternity test results I practically taunted Monica into ordering so that they said you're not a Q,” Elizabeth confessed breathlessly, her voice loud and high as her nerves about keeping such a secret from her husband finally frazzled. She didn't wait for him to react, though. Instead, she just kept on rambling. “But he wouldn't look at my boobs, because he stumbled across AJ trying to attack me in the park, so he wanted to help just because everyone knows the Quartermaines are assholes, and he sympathized with the fact that I knew that you really didn't want to see our original plan through... not that I told him about our original plan or anything. So, that's why you couldn't find your toothbrush, razor, or comb before we left on our trip. Oh, and I also burned the letter your mom wrote to my broom-riding grandmother. I know that it's like the only thing you have... or, well, had of your mother's, but that thing was just too dangerous to have lying around, waiting for someone else to find it. I mean, Jason. Can you imagine what our kids will be like in twenty years? They're going to be awful. Demons. Devil-spawns! And you know that they would totally cash in such a letter for a new Beemer, a boob job, and some designer bags.”  
  
Elizabeth was pretty sure that she would have just kept talking so as to not give Jason a chance to express his anger with her for... well, everything she had done, but she ran out of oxygen, and she was pretty sure if she kept thinking, let alone talking about having kids, she would probably hyperventilate. The chances were that the modern marvel of multiple methods of birth control would eventually fail them given just how much sex she and her husband usually had... well, when they weren't in Italy, evidently, and then they'd have a couple of kids, but surely they had at least a few more years before their luck ran out... right?  
  
Instead of yelling at her, though, Jason flipped her over, pinning her beneath him, and growled, “AJ attacked you. Attacked you how? Was he going to hit you?”  
  
“Eh...,” Elizabeth hedged, looking anywhere but her pissed off husband.  
  
“He was going to rape you.”  
  
It wasn't a question, because he knew the answer without her having to confirm it. Needing to quickly talk Jason down before he decided to fly back to Port Charles and castrate his biological half-brother who no longer believed that they were actually brothers from different mothers and wanting to get to her original plan of having sex with her husband, Elizabeth admitted, “he scared me, that's it. AJ said a bunch of horrible things. Obviously, somebody had been paying attention when his mother and aunt terrorized me over tiramisu. And he had me backed up against a tree, but he never touched me. Spinelli got there first. One word from that floppy-haired geek, and AJ took off like a rash on a prostitute. Stage fright, apparently,” she joked half-heartedly. While it wasn't funny, it was the best way she knew how to assure Jason that she was really alright. “Some guys just can't perform in front of an audience.”  
  
“Elizabeth,” he scolded, obviously not wanting her to make light of her own pain and fear.  
  
All brashness forgotten, she whispered, “I'm okay. Really.” While she knew that Jason would insist that they talk about what had happened... or what had nearly happened to her... some more, that could come later. Much, much later after lots and lots of sex. Before the sex, though, she had one last question she needed her husband to answer. “Hey, who the hell did you find with enough ready cash that they were able to buy both your bar and my old battleax of a grandmother's house on such short notice?”  
  
“Sonny Corinthos.” The smirk that accompanied Jason's response told her that he appreciated the irony... and Audrey's misery in death just as much as she did.  
  
“Oh, man. Eddie's gonna have...”  
  
“Babies, huh,” Jason rudely interrupted her. Well, it would have been rudely if the deliciously fast and frisky invasion of his body into hers hadn't accompanied his words. “You want to have babies with me?”  
  
What was it about the idea of an Italian made baby that suddenly didn't seem as frightening as a baby made anywhere else?


End file.
